


Sister and Brother

by CanUDigIt65, TheGrimmScribe (orphan_account)



Series: Grimm Kingdom [1]
Category: Disney Princesses, Once Upon a Time (TV), Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure (Cartoon)
Genre: Abusive Parents, Alternate Canon, Alternate Character Interpretation, Alternate Universe - Once Upon a Time Fusion, Autism, Background Gothel (Disney), Backstory, Bigotry & Prejudice, Breaking the Fourth Wall, Cannibalism, Child Abandonment, Christianity, Crimes & Criminals, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Dark Comedy, Dark Fantasy, Disney References, Dreams and Nightmares, Dysfunctional Family, Fairy Tale Retellings, Female-Centric, Food, Hansel and Gretel Elements, Historical References, Hypocrisy, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Inspired by Music, Kings & Queens, Literary References & Allusions, Magic Mirrors, Masturbation, Morality, Multi, Musical References, Once Upon a Time (TV) References, Poverty, Prequel, Prophetic Visions, References to Canon, Revenge, Spells & Enchantments, Taverns, Weight Gain, Witch Hunters, Witchcraft, Witches, Wizard of Oz References, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:54:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 23,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23067322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanUDigIt65/pseuds/CanUDigIt65, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/TheGrimmScribe
Summary: Once upon a time, before the birth of Rapunzel, a Gothic parable of child abuse, survival, cannibalism, and societal monstrosity unfolded in a kingdom gone Grimm where fairy tales are more factual than fictional.Forced out of house and home by their abusive parents, a pair of autistic siblings known as Hansel and Gretel are left to fend for themselves in the wickedly wild wilderness. Meanwhile, the infamous Gothel is released from prison by the Queen's husband and plots to overthrow the monarchy of her Puritanical homeland where alternative facts are considered to be God's law and peasants are enlisted as soldiers in an unholy war against the forces of witchcraft to benefit His Majesty's skewed views of justice.
Relationships: Diablo/Maleficent (Disney), Gretel (Once Upon a Time: Sisterhood) & Hansel | Jack | Nick Branson, Queen Arianna of Corona/King Frederic of Corona (Disney)
Series: Grimm Kingdom [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1657798
Kudos: 5





	1. Personal Jesus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A children's tale this is not. A tale of philosophical social satire this is. Let my faithful audience of _Tangled_ fans and Oncers be aware that this modernized fairy tale is not meant to demonize Christians. As an autistic atheist, I recognize that Christianity has its positive and negative points, and I wish to reflect that within the religious community presented within the kingdom of Corona. I hope that any Christian readers aren't offended.**

_“Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live."_

* * *

Thirty-seven years ago, before the birth of social media and cell phones, there largely but not solely existed within the fabled kingdom of Corona a community of conservative white Christians. These Christians were known as modern Puritans. They were an uptight and often hypocritical society who loved, feared, and respected God. The Puritans dressed in old-fashioned clothing and honored their heritage by living strictly by the ten commandments, banning the concept of fun and games from their households, and giving thanks for their daily bread. Despite being members of a New England religion, these Puritans spoke with a mixture of American, English, and Australian accents. Their homeland was ruled by King Frederic Joseph Clancy Moore and his autistic wife, Queen Arianna Maria Wilhelmina Elizabeth Moore. The King loved his people. He hated witchcraft. Witchcraft was viewed by the monarch and his subjects as a social disease. The Church of Corona did their best to defend themselves against the threat of witchcraft in the form of an army of holy men known as Witch Hunters. Blessed by the Reverend Herz Der Sonne, these Hunters believed that they were simply doing God’s duty. They didn’t care if their victims were innocent. In the Christian world, magic was stereotyped as being dangerous, unstable, and otherworldly. Anybody who was convicted of practicing the Dark Arts was arrested and sentenced to death by the lawful orders of His Majesty. The King’s wife was aware of the fact that not all conjurers and mystics were villains. Her husband was the opposite. Not only was he merciless and close-minded, but he strongly despised necromancers, witches, sorcerers, wizards, soothsayers, and sorceresses. Whenever he attended services on the weekends, he often warned his working class audience of starving families about the dangers of the occult within the chapel of his palace.

"May all children of God be aware of the existence of covens. Covens are cults by another name, and they are dedicated to witchcraft and paganism. These demonic practices are serious threats to the Christian world,” the King preached to his subjects. “The pagan Gods of the Old World are false idols who mock the Father and the Lord. These heathen deities must be shunned and their followers are to be condemned to death. Remember, my children, that there's no such thing as a good witch. Anybody who practices black magic is the Satanic spawn of Hades. It is the duty of God’s army to seek them out and bring them to justice. The forces of evil shall be effectively eliminated. Especially witches.” 

“Amen,” the audience replied.

One of the audience members, a blind woodcutter named Ivo Michael Payne, raised his hand. The King looked down from the pulpit and smiled at his disciple. 

“Do you have a question?” King Frederic asked.

“Are witches demons? Or some other form of monster?” Ivo asked. 

"Witches are degenerate succubi who seek to corrupt humanity. They are not God's children. They are Satanic concubines. These midnight hags are greedy, bloodthirsty harlots who mate with Hades, sacrifice stolen babies to the Devil in exchange for immortality, use their sexuality as a weapon, and use contaminated fruit to prey on fair virgins who are prettier than them. They are ungodly fiends who must be hanged, tortured, beheaded, or burned at the stake for their crimes against humanity.” 

The woodcutter nodded and sat back down in his pew. Sitting on both sides of him were his sixteen-year-old daughter, Gretel, and her thirteen-year-old brother. Gretel’s brother was named Hansel. The children lived with their father and his second wife as their servants in a cabin at the edge of the Dark Forest. While Gretel and her brother were forced to do chores and prepare meals for their family, their parents were anti-witchcraft activists who supported the witch-hunting business. Gretel thought differently about witches. She knew that any witch or wizard wasn’t inherently wicked. Villains weren’t born. They were made. 

“Do you seriously believe in His Majesty’s sermons?” Gretel asked her father. 

“It’s God’s honest truth,” Ivo replied. 

“But not all witches are wicked, Dad,” Hansel argued. 

The audience of His Majesty was offended by Gretel’s brother’s argumentative response. 

“Blasphemy!” the King cried out.

“Shut up! Both of you,” Ivo whispered to his children.

Hansel obeyed his father’s demand. Gretel rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. She stared down at the floor, bored out of her mind by the King’s fundementalist rants.

“To quote the Bible: Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.” 

“And what exactly does that mean?” Gretel demanded.

All of the Puritans in the audience glared at the woodcutter’s daughter. 

“Is there an objection to the scripture, young lady?” the King asked.

“Yes, there is. There are wicked witches in this world, but not all witches or wizards are hellbent on corrupting mortals or stealing children,” Gretel replied. “Just because an apple is grown from the tree of evil doesn’t necessarily mean that the fruit is rotten by nature.” 

“What is the meaning of this madness? Hold your tongue!” King Frederic demanded.

“I shall not!” Gretel snapped. 

“Daughters are to be seen and not heard. Any young lady who speaks her mind is clearly a child of Satan.” 

"Bullshit!" Hansel cried out. 

The woodcutter slapped his son in order to shut him up. Gretel was ready to pick her copy of the Bible and hurl it at the King’s head. His Majesty was dangerously close to igniting the fires of her infamous temper which could not be easily put out by gentle coaxing. 

“You preach about witches and demons, but have you ever met them? I’m sure that you haven’t,” Hansel’s sister replied.

"That's why I warn my subjects about such dangers. I preach to protect," King Frederic declared. 

“How can you warn the public about something that you haven’t personally confronted?” 

“I am simply doing what Jesus would have done,” the King said. 

“Would Jesus have approved of witches being burned and hanged simply for the false crime that is their existence? Do you think He would have viewed anybody who practiced magic as a sinner? I don’t think so. You may refer to yourself as a devout Christian, but you are a shitty monarch. Also, Jesus was also a wizard. He practiced magic.” 

“Jesus wasn’t a wizard. He was a prophet,” His Majesty argued. 

“And what do prophets do? They work with magic,” Gretel laughed. “Although, you don’t call it magic, do you? You refer to His deeds as miracles. However, unlike the countless witches and wizards that God’s children have killed, Jesus wasn’t one of them. He wasn’t burned at the stake. His enemies nailed Him to a cross and left Him for dead.”

“Gretel, that’s enough,” the woodcutter said. 

“I’m speaking the truth!” Gretel shouted at her father. 

“She’s offending the clergy,” King Frederic replied. 

"She's making a scene," one of the Puritans remarked.

Gretel sat back down.

"Know your place," the woodcutter told his daughter.

"I shall obey, Dad," Gretel lied.

King Frederic cleared his throat and looked at the audience. The woodcutter shot a scornful look at his daughter. Hansel’s sister turned away from her father to avoid his wrath. 

“Ladies and gentleman, it appears that our afternoon service has concluded,” the King announced. “You’re free to go home and enjoy the rest of the day with your loved ones. May God bless you, keep you, and protect you from evil.”

“Amen,” the audience replied. 

The churchgoers got up from the seats and walked in a straight line toward the doors of the chapel. Hansel took his older sister’s hand. 

“I wish we weren’t forced to go to church every weekend,” Gretel’s brother complained. 

“I wish for us to be free from our parents,” Hansel’s sister replied. 

“I wish we lived in a cabin in the woods and had wild animals for friends.”

“I wish both of you would keep your mouths shut!” Ivo hissed at his children.

Hansel and Gretel lowered their heads. 

“Yes, Dad.”

The siblings did their best to obey the Puritanical laws that their father and his ancestors followed. Despite their upbringing, both brother and sister shared an interest in witchcraft, sorcery, and demonology. They kept their interests a secret from their parents out of fear that they would be punished or sent to an authoritarian convent to be mentally corrected under false pretenses of having been turned against God by Satan’s hand. If their parents ever found out, they wouldn’t just be lectured. They would be disowned. 

Abandonment was one of Gretel’s greatest worries. She didn’t want to be her younger brother’s babysitter forever. Though he could be annoying at times, he was also inquisitive and adventurous. He was the closest thing to a sidekick that Gretel had in her miserable life. Without her brother, she wasn’t a sister. She was just a maidservant who was treated as the property of her parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Image source: [Woodcutter's Daughter](https://onceuponatime.fandom.com/wiki/Gretel_\(True_North\)/Gallery?file=109HaveAnAx.png)


	2. No One Mourns The Wicked

_ "In the civilized countries I believe there are no witches left, nor wizards, nor sorceresses, nor magicians. But, you see, the Land of Oz has never been civilized, for we are cut off from all the rest of the world. Therefore we still have witches and wizards among us." _

* * *

“Why does nobody weep for the souls of witches?” Hansel asked his sister during dinner. 

“Because they aren’t human in the eyes of God’s men,” Gretel replied.

“That’s fucked up.”

“Just like our home life,” Hansel’s sister agreed. 

“And our parents.”

"And this kingdom," Hansel sighed. 

"Is the kingdom worse than its King?" Gretel wondered.

"I think so," Hansel replied.

Gretel nodded. She shoved a forkful of bratwurst into her mouth. Hansel watched as she chewed, swallowed, and digested her portion of her dinner. 

“Was Satan an angel once?” Hansel wondered. 

“That depends on which version of his story you’ve heard or read. Some say that he’s a fallen angel who formed an army of demons to rebel against God and break through the golden gates of Heaven. Others dictate that it was Lucifer, not Satan, who fell from grace and became the Prince of Darkness. It’s commonly said throughout the village that witches and wizards are his servants.”

“Are witches as bad as His Majesty says they are?”

“Not all witches are truly wicked. Some of them are misunderstood spinsters who were persecuted by holier-than-thou heroes,” Gretel replied.

“Why aren’t our parents dining with us?” Hansel asked.

“Our parents have their evening meals in their bedroom. Mom and Dad don’t eat with us. We are their burdens and their servants. It’s our job to cook, clean, wash, and do other household chores in order to make them appreciate us. Remember, my dear brother, that there are certain parents who enslave their children in order to make themselves look great and terrible. Think of them as wizards operating behind an emerald curtain.” 

“Mom and Dad hate wizards,” Hansel argued.

“I know. That’s why I used an Ozian allegory,” Gretel said. 

Finishing their bratwurst and sauerkraut, Gretel and Hansel washed the dishes, cleaned the silverware, and went to their room where they asked questions or told each other bedtime stories until they felt ready to go to sleep. Gretel’s favorite story was about a mermaid who sold her voice to the Sea Witch in exchange for legs so she could walk on land and marry the Danish prince she adored. The Sea Witch was one of the characters she loved. A brown-skinned Goddess from the waist up and an octopus from the waist down, the Sea Witch dealt in making the wishes of poor, unfortunate souls come true, but her deals did not come without a price. 

“Do you think witches are cooler than mermaids?” Hansel asked.

“Both are interesting,” Gretel replied. 

“But mermaids live underwater. Isn’t water deadly to witches?”

“Witches are immune to water unless it’s been blessed by a priest or a bishop. Aren’t you familiar with the Wicked Witch of the West? Her soul was so unclean that holy water melted her. Unlike normal witches in fairy tales, she had an army of wolves, crows, killer bees, Winkie guards, and winged monkeys. Her sister, the Wicked Witch of the East, ruled over the Munchkins as their dictator.” 

“What happened to the Eastern Witch?” Hansel asked.

“She was flattened when Dorothy’s farmhouse crashed into her and landed in the farmland on the outskirts of the Munchkin village.”

“Flattened by a farmhouse? That’s brutal,” Hansel remarked. 

“Brutally painful.” 

“While we’re still talking about witches, do you know about the Blind Witch?” Hansel asked.

“Who is she?” Gretel wondered.

“I’ve only heard stories from the children at our Sunday school, but the Blind Witch is rumored to live in a gingerbread cottage in the northern woods, where she lures homeless children into her clutches and fattens them up. After they’ve become tender and plump, the internal organs of her victims are harvested and preserved for usage as ingredients in her pies and cupcakes. She has red eyes, but can’t see, and has a keen sense of smell.”

“A cannibalistic witch with the senses of a bloodhound? How intriguing,” Gretel laughed. 

“Do you think she’s real?”

“I think that you should take those stories with a grain of salt. I mean, come on! A gingerbread house? Who in their right mind would make a cottage out of confectionery? That’s completely absurd.”

"It's delicious," Hansel remarked. 

"Deliciously absurd," Gretel argued. 

“Why do you think it’s absurd?” Hansel wondered.

“Because little kids will believe anything that their parents tell them."

“But I thought fairy tales had truth in them?” Hansel argued. 

“There are times where fiction is stranger than reality,” Hansel’s sister replied.

“Does that mean the Blind Witch isn’t real?” Gretel’s brother asked.

“I don’t know. Perhaps, if we encountered her in the woods, we might find out if the gingerbread rumors are true.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Image source: [Hansel's Chair](https://onceuponatime.fandom.com/wiki/Chosen/Gallery?file=717HanselChair.png)


	3. Hunger

_"What is to become of us? How can we feed our children when we have nothing for ourselves?"_

* * *

"Sweetheart?" Ivo whispered to his wife.

"Yes, dear?" the woodcutter's wife replied.

“I can’t sleep."

“What’s wrong?”

“Something’s been eating away at me.”

“Your hunger?”

The woodcutter laughed. He sat upright in his wife’s bed, smiling and shaking his head.

"What's so funny?" Ivo's wife asked.

Ivo informed his spouse of the troubles that afflicted him. 

“You don’t understand, Zelena. It’s not just hunger that bothers me. For fifteen years, this kingdom has been cursed with the worst famine in history."

"That explains why I've been craving expensive food lately," Zelena replied.

"The villagers are suffering. Even the wilderness is affected," the woodcutter said.

"Looks like the Great Famine isn't as great as people thought it would be."

"What must be done?” Ivo asked.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Zelena replied.

“Not really,” Ivo said.

“Don’t you know what I’m thinking?” 

“I would know if you told me.”

“Alright, I’ll tell you. In order to survive the Great Famine, we must get rid of the children.”

“Should we sell them to a workhouse?” the woodcutter asked. 

“A workhouse sounds perfectly wretched, but I suggest a tamer method of disowning them. These things must be handled delicately.”

“What should be done instead? Should we abandon them at a convent?” Ivo replied.

“A convent wouldn’t do them any good. We should leave them to their own devices in the Dark Forest. Those spoiled brats will no longer be our burdens to boss around or worry about. Besides, this household isn't big enough for the four of us. We need to find some way to get rid of those children or our relationship will be cursed to burn in the fires of Hell. Once Hansel and Gretel have been kicked out of house and home, we can have all of the food in the pantry and fridge to ourselves. We don't have to worry about those two gremlins ever again. For all that we know, they could be found by witches.”

“What sort of witches?” Ivo wondered.

“Do you know who Mother Gothel is? She’s the owner of an enchanted garden,” Zelena replied. “Gothel loves her fruits and vegetables, but she’s strongly possessive of her rampion and radishes. Maybe, if Hansel and Gretel break into her garden in an attempt to steal food, they could be forced to work for her or locked up in a tower as her prisoners.”

“That could work, my dear wife, but what if the Wicked Witch of the Northern Woods finds them instead? What would happen if Hansel and Gretel stumbled upon her gingerbread house?”

“Then our children shall be her feast. Remember what she does to her victims? They are fattened, butchered, and roasted like the pigs they are. Imagine Hansel’s liver fried in butter, or Gretel’s marinated fingers being fried in a skillet, while her heart is slowly roasting over an open fire. Doesn’t that sound delicious?”

“It sounds like cannibalism,” Ivo replied. 

“And what’s wrong with that?” Zelena asked.

“Cannibalism is a form of gluttony. Gluttony is one of the seven deadly sins. It’s worse than rape and incest combined. Therefore, gluttons are sinners.”

“Modern society is full of societal demons,” Zelena insisted. “However, I believe that gluttons, lazybones, adulterers, and misers would be pretty tasty in the form of meat pies.”

“Meat pies made from flesh and blood? Have you gone mad?” Ivo asked. 

“I’m not mad, dear. I’m wicked.”

“You’re wickedly beautiful,” the woodcutter remarked, smiling at his wife and kissing her forehead.

Zelena smiled as her husband gazed at her. Her reddish-brown hair and emerald skin was enchantingly mesmerizing. 

“If I told you that I was a witch, would you hang me from the gallows or burn me at the stake?” Ivo’s wife asked. 

“You’re my wife. I would never hurt you. You’ve already bewitched my heart. You would do anything for me. I would do anything for you. No enemy that is or was will bring us down. Together, we’re unlimited.”

“Would you defend me with your axe?” Zelena asked. 

“Believe me, sweetheart. I don’t just use my axe for chopping wood.”

The woodcutter was pulled into his wife’s embrace. She kissed him on the lips. For a moment, he felt her tongue inside of his mouth. His wife’s lips tasted of bittersweet chocolate. Chocolate reminded him of his one true love. Now he was hungry. His stomach growled furiously. 

“Is my poor husband hungry?” Zelena teased. 

“Extremely,” Ivo replied. 

“Tomorrow, during breakfast, we shall rid the house of Gretel and her brother. After they’ve been banished, we can indulge ourselves in a childless life, and make merry together. Doesn’t that sound pleasant?

“Yes, it does, my beautifully wicked wife.”

“What exactly shall we indulge in?” Zelena asked. 

“We shall drink and feast at the cheapest taverns, get frisky under the sheets, and mock the impoverished for their shortcomings,” Ivo explained to his wife. “On Sundays, we shall attend church together and take part in watching condemned witches being burned or hanged for their crimes.”

“The executions are public?” Ivo asked.

“They’ve always been that way. Besides, God’s army is doing what’s right for their kingdom. No wicked deed goes unpunished.”

“Speaking of God’s army, did you know that farmers, butchers, and millers are being recruited as soldiers in His Majesty’s war on witchcraft?” Ivo asked.

“That sounds like His Majesty is desperate for allies,” the woodcutter’s wife remarked. 

“What does his wife think of the situation?” Ivo asked. 

“I’m not sure that Her Majesty thinks at all,” Zelena laughed.

“Is she brainless?” the woodcutter asked. 

“She isn’t ignorant, but she’s quite neutral towards her husband’s affairs. I don’t think that she’s the type of woman to be involved with witches.”

“By the way, didn’t a witch turn a butcher’s father into a pig as an ironic prank?” 

“Wasn’t the butcher’s father a glutton?” Zelena asked.

“I think he was.”

“Then he got what he deserved," Ivo replied.

"Why do you think so?" Zelena asked.

"What goes around comes around. In this wicked world, the worst sinners always receive punishments that fit their respective crimes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Image source: [Cabin of the Woodcutter](https://onceuponatime.fandom.com/wiki/Ivo/Gallery?file=717ZelenaIsThat.png)


	4. Disowning the Pitiful Children

_ "How could I bring myself to abandon my own children alone in the woods? Wild animals would soon come and tear them to pieces." _

* * *

“May the Lord bless this meal that we’re about to receive,” Ivo prayed.

“Amen,” Hansel and Gretel replied. 

The family sat around the table, eating their breakfast of macaroni and cheese, fruit punch, and bread crusts. Since they were an impoverished household, the food they bought for their meals was cheaply bought from marketplaces and shops in the village. From cheesy macaroni to porridge and cornbread, they ate what they managed to afford, but the children were forbidden from eating sweet treats. Candy, their father once told them, was the Devil’s invention. It was a sugar-coated toxin that led consumers along a sinful path of gluttony and diabetes. 

“Remember to keep God in your heart, mind, and soul at all times," Ivo preached to his children.

"We will," Hansel promised.

Being a child of God will protect you from Satan."

“What does Satan do?” Hansel asked.

“Satan preys on the weak and the innocent. His favorite victims are impressionable children. He comes in many forms. He can be a wolf, a rabbit, a pig, or even a black man in witch doctor’s clothing.”

“That’s racist, Dad,” Gretel pointed out.

Zelena grimaced at her stepdaughter. 

“What’s racist?” the woodcutter asked.

“You compared black men to Satan.”

“How is that racist?” Ivo snapped. 

Hansel covered his mouth to prevent himself from laughing at his father’s idiocy. Gretel kept her mouth shut. She resumed eating her porridge and bread crusts. The woodcutter’s daughter didn’t bother to argue with her father. Though she knew that her opinion was fact, her father thought of facts as opinions and falsehoods as alternative facts. 

“Racism is a fairy tale. It’s not real. It’s a product of bigoted fools with overly sensitive imaginations. Are we fools, my children? No, we are not. We are proud members of the one and only true faith. We are children of the master race. Savages and heathens do not belong in the Christian world. They belong in the dungeons of Hell. That’s their proper place.” 

Forming her hands into fists, Gretel tried desperately to hide her boiling anger from her father. Conceal, don’t feel. Don’t let her true feelings show. That’s how she got into trouble. Every time she spoke up for what she believed in, there was always a powerful man to shut her down and keep her quiet. Puritan women were to be seen and not heard in situations that didn’t concern them. Gretel didn’t want to be anybody’s good girl. She wanted to be herself. To experience freedom. Society was the prison that she desperately needed to break out of and escape in order to become her own person. 

“What’s a witch doctor?” Hansel asked.

“Witch doctors are dark-skinned agents of the Devil. They kidnap and rape white women, draining them of their blood to sustain themeselves and gain immortality. They are distrustful tricksters who work with their friends on the other side. The black magic they practice is known as Voodoo, the conjuration of spirits and demons to carry out their dirty deeds of sacrificial murder, bloodlust, and revenge.” 

“And who told you these fairy tales? The King?” Gretel snapped. 

“This isn’t a fairy tale, Gretel. It’s God’s honest truth. His Majesty has eyes and ears. They help him stay updated on the happenings of this kingdom. These eyes and ears are known as his courtiers.”

“Are they courtiers or gossipers? Gretel replied. 

“They are God’s men. Do not speak poorly of them,” Ivo said. 

“Just because they’re God’s men doesn’t mean that they’re above the law. They aren’t deities. They’re mortals.” 

“Who’s to say that mortal men can’t be divine?” the woodcutter argued. 

“I don’t understand your reply,” Gretel said. 

“He who works for God shall become God himself in time.” 

“Bullshit and nonsense! Do you know what God’s servants do to witches?” Gretel asked.

“They are burned or hanged,” the woodcutter replied. “Witches are enemies of God.”

Ivo picked up his mug and gulped down his beer. 

“If witches are God’s enemies, then why did you bring one into this world?”

“What are you talking about?” Ivo asked.

“You should be surprised that Hansel has a midnight hag for an older sister.” 

“Midnight hag? But you aren’t old,” Gretel’s father laughed. 

“Witches aren’t always old nor ugly,” Hansel pointed out.

The woodcutter’s eyes widened in alarm at his son’s answer. He spat out his beverage and glared at Gretel. Hansel kept a straight face to avoid being slapped by his father for laughing at him. 

“Lies! You speak in jest,” Ivo replied. 

“I speak the truth. I am a premature witch,” Gretel declared. 

“Are you being honest?” the woodcutter asked. 

“I am as honest as the truest shepherd.”

"Then you are no daughter of mine. Sorcery and rebellion have no place in this house. Do you even hear what you're saying? You are speaking Satan's language. Reject your wicked ways and you shall once again be embraced by God. You shall be one of His children once more if you pledge to turn away from Satan and recognize witchcraft as the unholy crime that it is."

“Witchcraft isn’t a crime. That’s like saying lesbianism is a disease,” Gretel argued. 

“Silly, foolish child! There’s no such thing as a lesbian witch,” Gretel’s father laughed. "A lesbian is one thing. A witch is another. You can't be a lesbian and a witch at the same time. That's not how it works. I will not have a witch for a daughter.” 

"I'd rather be a witch than work as the servant of a cowardly drunkard who lives in fear of what he doesn't respect or understand,” Gretel replied.

“Where would you go? You can’t live with us,” Zelena taunted. 

Gretel’s stepmother was right. Their house was not a home for witches or their familiars. Witches were to be destroyed and not heard or seen. Hansel and his older sister thought it would best to leave their cabin immediately rather than have the guards called on them by their parents. Before they departed for the wilderness, their stepmother handed the crusts of bread to them. 

“This will be for your supper,” Zelena said. 

“All we get is bread crusts? Nothing else?” Gretel replied.

“Don’t waste it.”

“Don’t worry,” Hansel replied. “We won’t.”

“It’s better for us to eat rather than to starve,” Gretel said. 

“Why don’t you starve to death instead?” Zelena snapped. “Better yet, why don’t you snack on each other so you don’t have to eat us out of house and home?” 

“Better to dine than to be dined upon,” Hansel responded. 

The woodcutter’s wife became speechless after hearing her stepson’s response. Hansel smirked at his stepmother in a way that made her scowl furiously. Taking his older sister’s hand, he walked out of the house and into the depths of the Dark Forest. Hansel looked back at his father’s cabin. He used to think that there was no place like home. Now, it appeared that their home no longer wanted them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Image source: [Hansel and Gretel](https://onceuponatime.fandom.com/wiki/True_North/Gallery?file=109YouAre.png)


	5. Great and Terrible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Despite all of the Ozian references sprinkled throughout this story, I honestly think that dark and edgy takes on _The Wizard of Oz_ are overdone. The only exceptions in my world are _Tin Man_ and _The Wicked Years_ by Gregory Maguire.**

_"I am Oz, the Great and Terrible. Who are you and why do you seek me?"_

* * *

King Frederic sipped coffee from his mug, silently observing the peasants of his kingdom from his bedroom window. Farmers, maidservants, cobblers, butchers, millers, blacksmiths, and other members of the working class were exchanging their wares in the marketplace of the village square. They were a community of commoners who viewed their world through green spectacles. Their ruler was often compared to the mighty Wizard who lived within his magnificent City of Emeralds and deceived his subjects through means of trickery. Since His Majesty lacked magical powers, he did not utilize the art of ventriloquism or stage magic to trick the citizens of his kingdom into believing that he was an almighty sorcerer, but rather used his power as a preacher and a monarch to persuade his army to aid him in the fight against the demons that were responsible for afflicting the kingdom with a deadly famine. His brainwashed subjects were obedient citizens who always thought it was important to put the needs of their neighbors before themselves. Everything they did was done with their King and his kingdom in mind. 

“He who works for God shall become God himself in time,” the King said. 

The King of Corona turned around and smiled at his wife. The Queen was sitting upright in bed. Dressed in a lavender-and-gold gown and a necklace of pearls, Her Majesty was a beautiful Goddess with emerald eyes and dark brown hair. She was one of her husband’s most loyal partners. 

“Do you truly love our subjects?” Queen Arianna asked her husband. 

“My subjects are my children,” the Queen’s husband replied. 

“What about our kingdom?” Queen Arianna wondered.

The King walked over to his queen-sized bed and sat down beside his spouse. Placing his coffee on the bedside table, he answered his wife’s question. 

“Our kingdom prospers despite its devastation. The peasants and the clergy are doing their best to fight against witches, demons, and the Great Famine. Whether through burning, hanging, or old-fashioned torture, the concubines of Satan will be punished for their sins.” 

“Do you honestly believe that all witches are Satanic?” the King’s wife asked. 

“Believing is hearing and seeing. I have heard stories about what these midnight hags do to their victims. They are greedy, manipulative, bloodthirsty, and distrustful.” 

“Stereotypes and truth aren’t brewed together in the same cauldron,” Queen Arianna advised her husband. 

“However, there is truth in stereotypes,” King Frederic argued. 

“You know, Fred, there’s a part of me that wonders why I decided to marry you,” the Queen sighed. 

“What makes you say such things?” the Queen’s husband asked.

“I thought you would make this kingdom into your own Emerald City. Instead, it’s been transformed into a battleground where the monarchy and the commoners struggle for survival in a world plagued by monsters, but the monsters aren’t witches or demons. Something tells me that there’s a reason witchcraft refuses to die out.”

“I’m doing this for you,” the King argued. 

“I never wished for any of this witch-hunting hysteria to happen in my name,” Queen Arianna replied. 

“Then what do you wish for?” 

"Take a wild guess."

"Do you wish for something precious and sacred?"

"I do," the King's wife answered. 

“Do you want my crown?” the King asked.

“I don’t want your crown."

"Do you want me to step down as ruler of this kingdom?"

"That would be nice, but no," the Queen said.

"Then what do you wish for?" King Frederic asked.

"What I truly desire is a child.”

“A child?” the King asked.

“Yes, Fred. I’ve always wanted to be a mother. A daughter would be perfect. Nine years from now, I wish to give birth to a baby girl who will be raised to be as graceful, wise, resilient, childlike, adventurous, and independent as her mother. Our little princess will have emerald eyes, golden hair, and a beautiful smile that will fill this darkened world with sunshine. If she doesn’t want to be potty-trained, we can always keep her in diapers as a form of comfort and protection, and she will be the Princess of Pampers.” 

The description of the Queen’s future child worried and amused her husband. 

“The Princess of Pampers? Is that what she’ll be called?” the King asked.

“Doesn’t it sound adorable? I’ve always thought that Pampers would be the perfect padding for my precious princess. Not only are they super absorbent and stretchy, but their padding is also five inches thicker than Huggies. As someone who is a huge fan of that particular brand, let it be known that I don’t care if my little girl is dry, messy, or soggy. Honestly, I’ve always loved the idea of having an older child who still enjoys being babied, diapered, and protected by her mother. Think about it, dear husband. Doesn’t a pampered princess sound adorable? I haven’t thought of a proper name for her, but I do hope that the nickname catches on.” 

“Perhaps it will,” the Queen’s husband replied. 

“Didn’t you describe yourself as a sentimental man who dreamed of being a father?” Queen Arianna asked.

“I don’t want to be a father who raises his child in a kingdom corrupted by the Devil’s servants. I would rather have her locked up in the highest room of the tallest tower or confined to her nursery so she will be sheltered from the outside world. It would be better for our baby girl to be a child forever than to have her be exposed to rock music, hardcore violence, science, pornography, Gothic literature, organized crime, substance abuse, and other Satanic influences. Sometimes, my dear wife, it’s best to keep your ducklings inside the egg to prevent them from hatching.” 

“Why are you so obsessed with Satan?” the Queen wondered. 

“Because I am one of God’s men,” the Queen’s husband replied. 

“Do you honestly believe that Satan exists?” 

“I don’t believe in Satan. He isn’t Krampus or Santa Clause. The Devil exists. It’s the duty of God’s children to know of his whereabouts.”

“What if Satan isn’t real? What if he’s just another boogeyman from one of those bedtime stories that parents tell their children to scare them into behaving properly and obeying God?” 

“Are you referring to the sacred texts?” 

“The Bible? Yes, I am,” Queen Arianna confirmed. 

“Don't speak in such a blasphemous manner, my dear wife. The Bible isn’t a book of fairy tales. It’s a documented history of prophets, sinners, priests, saints, and demons. The Devil is the master of those demons. He lives within every sinner to ever exist in society,” King Frederic proclaimed.

“What does the Devil look like?” Queen Arianna asked. 

“He is said to walk among mortals in the form of a dark-skinned sorcerer who swindles white folks and predicts their futures in exchange for their souls. His servants act as his friends on the other side.” 

“You’re describing Dr. Facilier, not Satan,” the Queen interjected. 

“Aren’t Voodoo and Satanism the same thing?” the King argued. 

“Actually, they’re not. Who told you that?”

Before King Frederic could continue his conversation which would have resulted in him being educated by his wife on the origins of the African-American religion which he had slandered, the Captain of the Guard entered the room. Standing beside him were his middle-aged sons, Pete and Stan. The Captain bowed to the King and Queen. 

“What’s wrong, Michael?” King Frederic asked.

“Your Majesty, one of the condemned witches has escaped the dungeon,” the Captain of the Guard replied. “The public must be warned about her. She is as dangerous as she is cunning.”

“What was her crime?” Queen Arianna wondered.

“The witch was arrested for stealing a merchant’s virginity and his money,” Stan revealed. 

“How dreadfully savage,” the King’s wife remarked.

“You have no idea. She is an authoritative dominatrix with a criminal history of sinful deeds related to pride, lust, vanity, and wrath. This gruesome harridan refers to herself as the mother of her coven,” Pete replied.

“What’s her name?” the Queen’s husband demanded. 

Pete and Stan exchanged concerned glances with their father. 

“Her name is Belladonna, but she’s infamously known as Mother Gothel.” 

“Gothel? Maleficent’s daughter?” the King’s wife gasped. 

“I’m afraid so,” the Captain of the Guard declared. 

“Why is she called Mother?” the Queen’s husband asked. 

“Because she is the guardian of her coven. Her followers are her children and she is their maternal leader.”

“Who is the idiot responsible for unleashing such a monstrous witch into this world? Don’t they realize how much of a threat she is? ” King Frederic demanded. “Give me his name. I want to give him a piece of my mind.”

The Captain of the Guard and his sons pointed at the King. Queen Arianna slapped her husband across the face three times in a row. Despite her justified anger toward him for releasing a prisoner from the dungeon without her consent, she didn’t hate him. She was simply outraged by the fact that the King was a man who seldom thought about his actions before setting them in motion. Her Majesty prayed to the Gods that Gothel’s return to the world of humanity wouldn’t result in disastrous consequences. The kingdom was already a false paradise with an idiot for its ruler. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Image source: [Queen Arianna and King Frederic](https://disney.fandom.com/wiki/King_Frederic/Gallery?file=Under_Raps_19.png)


	6. Crossing Paths

_“Greens, greens, and nothing but greens!”_

* * *

“Which direction are we headed?” Hansel asked his sister as they walked through the forest.

“North,” Gretel answered.

"How long have we been walking?"

"Three hours."

“Are you really a witch?” Hansel wondered.

“In training,” Gretel replied. 

“Witches are trained?” Hansel gasped. 

“Some are. Others are born with magic. There are times where witchcraft is hereditary rather than taught and learned.”

“Who teaches magic?” Hansel asked.

“Mostly fairies and witches, but wizards qualify as well,” Gretel replied. 

“Do you believe in our father’s words?” Gretel’s sister wondered. 

Gretel turned around and stared at her brother. 

“No, my dear brother. I don’t believe Dad's lies. He thinks that everything he says about witches is God's honest truth. He's wrong. Our father is the Church's whore. He's a soldier in an army of warriors who claim to be fighting for social justice but fail to practice what they preach. They're hypocritical bigots who believe themselves to be angels."

“What’s a bigot?” Hansel said. 

“Do you really wish to know?” Gretel asked.

“Yes, I do,” Hansel admitted. 

“A bigot is an intolerant monster who has a backwards way of thinking.” 

“So our Dad is one of those intolerant monsters?” Hansel replied.

“Sadly, he is,” Gretel confirmed. 

Hansel’s sister noticed that her younger brother was breaking apart his crusts and scattering them along the road of yellow bricks that served as their path through the forest. Unknown to him, the crumbs he scattered were found and eaten by the crows and ravens who inhabited the woodland sanctuary. 

“What are you doing?” Gretel asked.

“I’m making a trail of crumbs so we don’t get lost,” Hansel explained to his sister. 

“Why can’t you just stick to following the yellow brick road like a normal traveler?” Gretel chuckled. 

“Because that’s not how my brain works.” 

“Okay, little dude. I’m not going to argue with your sense of logic.”

“Why do you wish to argue with me? I’m already a handful,” Hansel laughed.

“That’s true,” Gretel replied.

Hansel held onto his older sister’s hand. As the siblings descended deeper into the forest, they became hungry and thirsty. 

“I’m starving,” Hansel said to his sister. 

“Same here,” Gretel replied.

“Do you think that the Great Famine will claim us as its latest victims?” Hansel worried.

"Listen, dear brother, if we're going to starve, then we might as well put on a good face and not complain about our impending doom.”

Gretel’s brother nodded. 

“Good idea.”

Gretel’s brother nodded. 

Holding hands with each other, the wayward siblings continued strolling through the forest. Hansel and Gretel’s desires for food and beverages were fulfilled when they entered a garden within an overgrown graveyard where fruits and vegetables were abundant alongside a collection of grotesque statues that depicted succubi, demonic nuns, and other creatures that served as mockeries of the Christian faith. Fruits and vegetables meant food. Food meant that their starvation would be appeased. 

“Whose garden do you think this is?” Hansel asked, grabbing a handful of Granny Smith apples from a tree and placing them in his basket. 

“Why does it matter? It’s food,” Gretel replied.

Hansel snatched an apple from his basket and bit into the bright green flesh. The fruit was sweetly sour. Before he could take another bite, a seven-year-old-witch appeared beside him. Dressed in a green-and-yellow dirndl, she had curly ebony hair with grey highlights and green eyes that sometimes turned gray. A pair of raven’s wings protruded from her back.

“What are you doing in my Mom’s garden?” the winged witch demanded. 

Gretel’s brother screamed. He dropped his apple back into his basket and fell to the ground, crawling away from the witch. 

“Witch!” Hansel screamed. 

“Please don’t hurt us,” Gretel said. “We didn’t mean any harm.” 

“Why would I hurt you?” the witch asked.

“Aren’t you Gothel?” Hansel replied.

The winged witch cackled. 

“That old harridan? She’s my mother. I’m her daughter.”

“You’re Gothel’s daughter?” Gretel gasped. 

“My name is Cassandra Espinosa Gothel,” Cassandra replied. 

“Nice to meet you, Cassandra. I’m Hansel Nicholas Payne,” Gretel’s brother said. 

“And I’m Gretel Ava Payne,” Hansel’s sister replied.

“Hansel and Gretel? Such beautiful names,” Cassandra remarked. 

“They were given to us by our birth mother,” Gretel clarified.

"That's cute," Cassandra replied.

“Sadly, our mother died from childbirth. Our father blamed us for her death. Just like you, we were servants of our parents. Luckily, we were kicked out of the house, and we’re left to fend for ourselves.” 

“My Mom used to say that she would never kick me out of her house. She tells me that I’m too valuable,” Cassandra replied. 

“Why is your mother making you take care of her own garden?” Gretel asked.

“Because she’s the mistress of the western woods. I’m her maidservant. She wants me to make sure that intruders and thieves don’t break into her sanctuary in an attempt to steal her magic. Whenever a foolish soul tries to help themselves to her prized fruits or veggies, they are punished by having their fingers cut off and planted in the ground.” 

"That's harsh," Gretel said.

“Do you know where your mother is?” Hansel replied.

“I don’t know,” Cassandra said. “Last time that I saw her, she was arrested by the King’s guards for unspeakable crimes.” 

“Why were they unspeakable?” Gretel asked.

“Because the Captain refused to tell me what my mother did.” 

“You do realize your mother’s a criminal? Right?” Hansel said.

Gretel slapped her younger brother’s arm. Hansel scowled at his sister and backed away from her. Cassandra simply giggled. She thought that the siblings were playing together. 

“Feel free to stay for the night,” Gothel’s daughter insisted.

"Thanks for the offer," Gretel replied.

“No problem! I don't know if or when my mother’s coming back. She might be gone for a month. Perhaps a year.” 

“What do you say, Hansel? Do you want to camp out here?” Gretel asked her brother. 

Hansel looked over at Cassandra. She smiled and batted her eyelashes at the young man.

“Will she curse us for stealing from her mother’s garden?” Gretel’s brother asked.

“I’m too young to curse,” Cassandra replied. 

“In that case, let's turn this garden into our campground for tonight. Let’s pray that the wild beasts of the woods don’t interrupt our slumber and devour us.” 

“I won’t let the wild beasts harm you, not as long as I’m your sidekick,” Gretel promised.

“Thanks, Gretel,” Hansel said.

Hansel and Gretel sat down beside a bush on which grew raspberries, strawberries, and blackberries. Cassandra gave the berries to her guests for their supper. After eating their fill of nature’s cuisine, the siblings laid down on the grass and recited their evening prayer. But Gretel and her brother were unable to sleep. Hunger still plagued their bodies. 

“Gretel? Could you please tell me one of your fairy tales?” Hansel asked.

“Which one?” Gretel replied.

“Tell me the story of the maidservant-turned-princess.” 

Gretel sighed and began her tale.

“Once upon a time, in the kingdom of Perrault, there was a scullery maid named Cinderella. She was mistreated by her stepmother, Victoria Tremaine, and her stepsisters, Drizella and Anastasia. Her only friends were the animals she cared for. One day, the King’s herald announced that Prince Naveen the Charming would be hosting a festival in hopes that he would find a proper bride. Cinderella wished to attend the celebration, but her stepmother refused.”

“Why did she refuse?” Hansel asked.

“Because the stepmother was a heartless asshole,” Gretel clarified. “Anyway, Cinderella’s wishes were granted by her Fairy Godmother. The Godmother gave her a silver-and-gold gown and a pair of glass slippers, along with her own pumpkin carriage. She was warned that the spell would only last until the clock struck twelve. Thanking her Godmother, Cinderella went to the festival and danced with the prince. They fell in love. When midnight came, Cinderella fled the palace, leaving one of her slippers behind.” 

“Why didn’t the Godmother use her powers to kill Cinderella’s stepfamily?” Gretel’s brother interrupted. 

“Do you want me to continue the story or are you just going to interject your commentary into the plot?” Gretel retorted.

“Sorry, sister. You may continue.” 

Gretel resumed her bedtime story.

“Prince Charming found the glass slipper and declared that whoever fit into the shoe would be his bride. Every maiden in the kingdom volunteered and failed to try on the slipper. Eventually, when the prince visited the Tremaine household, the stepsisters immediately attempted to trick His Highness into thinking that they were the women who owned the shoe. Of course, they lied. When the prince asked if there were any other maidens in the manor, the stepmother replied that there was only a dirty maid who lived in the kitchen and slept near the hearth. He demanded that the maidservant come forward. Cinderella blushed at the sight of the prince. She tried on the slipper and revealed herself to be the princess that danced at the festival. Cinderella and Prince Charming got married, Drizella joined a coven, and Anastasia became the wife of a baker.” 

“What happened to the stepmother?” Hansel asked. 

“She was disowned by society,” Gretel revealed. 

“Could you tell me the story of Snow White and Briar Rose?” Hansel begged. 

“Tomorrow night, there will be more time for stories. For now, let’s go to bed in this lovely garden. Good night, Hansel.”

“Good night, Gretel. Don’t let the demons bite.”

The siblings closed their eyes and drifted off to sleep. When morning came, their journey would resume. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Image source: [Cinderella](https://onceuponatime.fandom.com/wiki/Cinderella_\(The_Price_of_Gold\)/Gallery?file=603IllReturn.png)


	7. Something Wicked This Way Comes

_"Only bad witches are ugly."_

* * *

A dark-haired dominatrix and her hooded coven walked into the tavern. The bartender greeted them from behind his counter. 

“Welcome to the Snuggly Duckling. May I take your order?”

The witches reached within the pockets of their gowns and placed their stolen money on the counter. 

“Your finest table, please,” Gothel replied. 

The bartender glanced at the cadaverous crone who dared to enter his establishment. Her greenish-gray eyes were aflame with a dazzling fire that threatened to burn his soul as punishment for giving her a hard time. The old woman’s mane of dark, unruly hair was worn in ringlets. Makeup had been applied to her face in order to make her look younger than she actually was. 

"How many?" the bartender asked.

"Party of four," one of the witches said.

“Sorry, dearie, but we don’t serve witches,” the bartender replied. 

Gothel rolled her eyes at the bartender as he laughed at her. With a flick of her wrist, she rendered him speechless. His tongue was held firmly in her right hand. 

“Sorry, dearie, but Mother wasn’t asking,” the coven’s leader snarled. “Escort us to our table or I shall burn this tavern to the ground.” 

Nodding submissively, the bartender led the coven to a round table with eight chairs. The witches sat down and smiled at each other. Known as the Nightshade Sisters, each of the witches in Gothel’s coven were plotting to overthrow the radical Christian government that was responsible for the ongoing oppression of their people. 

“The apocalypse is approaching, my dear sisters,” Gothel whispered to her companions. “The King shall fall. Our coven shall rise. This kingdom shall be ours.” 

“By the pricking of our thumbs, something wicked this way comes,” the witches chanted in unison. 

The coven threw back the hoods of their cloaks. The witches seated at Gothel’s table consisted of Drizella Tremaine, Lady Laura Caine, and Sugracha the Eternal. Though Gothel had appointed her daughter as an honorary member of her group, she did not view her own flesh and blood as worthy of becoming a fully mature witch. Gothel’s daughter was less of a follower and more of a servant. 

“Thank you for releasing us from the dungeon,” Drizella said. 

“No problem. It’s a mother’s duty to do what’s best for herself and her children,” Gothel replied. 

“Where’s Hilda?” Sugracha asked. 

“We do not speak of Miss Braeburn. She’s a disgrace to our family,” Drizella said. “She’s the snitch who’s responsible for informing the peasantry about our bloody rituals and wicked schemes.” 

“Does anybody remember the day when I disguised myself as the adult version of my daughter and seduced Hilda into joining my coven?” Gothel asked.

“We remember,” the witches replied. 

“The visually impaired fool thought she was actually speaking to Cassandra, but she was actually speaking to me.” 

“Your glamour is quite effective,” Drizella remarked.

“The Blind Witch isn’t as powerful or wicked as you are,” Sugracha told her mistress.

Gothel smiled at her friend’s words.

“You speak a truthful compliment. There aren’t any other witches like me. Tell me, my sisters, who is Hilda?”

“Nobody!” the witches cackled.

“Who is Glinda the Good?”

“Nobody!”

“Who is Zelena?”

“Nobody!” 

“Who is Mombi?” 

“A mad hag who thinks bad is good and good is bad,” Drizella replied. 

“You are correct, Miss Tremaine,” Gothel chuckled. “I am the succubus who haunts the nightmares of children. I am one of the last disciples of the Evil Queen, the priestess of Zhan Tiri, and the harbinger of the Great Famine that’s cursed this kingdom. Together, with my badass skills and your cooperation, we shall defy gravity.” 

“Defy gravity? I thought we were going to bring the King down?” Drizella asked. 

“She was speaking in metaphors,” Sugracha explained to Cinderella’s stepsister. 

“Our people have been hunted, tortured, and exterminated by the Puritans for one-hundred-and-ninety-three years simply because we dare to exist. It’s time for us to beat His Majesty at his own game. When the time comes, we shall put our plan into action.” 

“But how are we supposed to overthrow the King if his palace is heavily guarded?” Sugracha asked. 

“First, we take out the guards. Then, after His Majesty’s minions have been taken care of, we put an end to the monarchy.” 

“What about his wife?” Sugracha asked.

“Her Majesty must not be harmed,” Gothel replied. “Our mission involves killing the King. The Queen will be left alone.” 

“Why can’t we be allowed to end a life of our choosing?” Drizella whined. 

“Because Mother knows best. Listen to her. She knows that the outside world is scary and dangerous. It is her job to protect you. Heed her every order, and you might survive in this Grimm world. In the meantime, act natural.” 

The coven obeyed Gothel’s orders. As the witches sat in their chairs, pretending to act like a group of kindly spinsters who loved black cats and weaving straw into gold, the bartender approached their table.

“Shall I order each of you something to drink this afternoon?” Gothel’s host offered. 

“Butterbeer,” Gothel replied. 

“With or without peppermint?” the bartender asked.

“It doesn’t matter to me.”

“And what would you like to eat?” 

“Just bring us a little bit of everything,” Sugracha ordered.

“So you want a party platter?” the bartender presumed. 

“A party platter sounds brilliant,” Gothel remarked. 

“Your orders will arrive at your table in thirteen hours. Thanks for dining at the Snuggly Duckling. We hope that your dreams come true.”

Gothel cackled darkly. She flashed a sickeningly sweet but sinister smile at the bartender.

“Don’t worry, dearie. They will.” 

The bartender walked away from the table. The Nightshade Sisters stomped their feet and banged their fists against the mahogany surface of the table in impatient anticipation. It had been three weeks since the coven experienced the pleasure of a decent meal. Most of their days were spent hunting Witch Hunters, hunting for mushrooms, hanging out in their leader’s cottage, or pranking the animals of the forest. 

“Does anybody want to hear the story of the Blind Witch?” Gothel asked her group.

“Tell us the tale,” the witches replied. 

“Once upon a time, in the northern woods of Corona, there lived an Italian witch named Hilda Braeburn. She was a candy-making baker and a cannibalistic chef who lived in her gingerbread house. Though she attempted to convince her enemies that she was a wicked witch, she was more hearty than heartless. She refused to eat children or prey on babies. Instead, she protected her child friends from witches like us. She used to be a member of our coven. Now, she hates us with a burning passion.” 

“I thought the Blind Witch killed, cooked, and ate children after they were fattened up in her dungeon?” Drizella argued. 

“Those are childish rumors,” Gothel admitted. “Rumors that I started.” 

“You’re the one who convinced the Puritans that Hilda was the monster instead of you?” Drizella gasped. 

“As I said before, Mother knows best. She does everything she can to preserve herself in order to save her own alabaster skin. You are my children. I am the fairest of them all.”

Gothel jumped up from her table as she heard the front door open. The Captain of the Guard and his sons entered the tavern. Dressed in emerald armor and green spectacles, they appeared to have walked straight out of the Emerald City.

“Thugs and ruffians of the Snuggly Duckling, I have a message for you,” the Captain of the Guard announced. “His Majesty has requested for all of his subjects to be on the lookout for a wickedly beautiful and dangerously cunning witch. She is known as Belladonna.”

“Who?” the tavern’s patrons asked. 

The Captain of the Guard sighed. He smacked his hand against his forehead and breathed in frustration. 

“Mother Gothel.” 

Upon hearing her name being said aloud by one of her enemies, Gothel covered her face with her hands and became invisible to those who wished to see her dead rather than alive. The King’s men searched through the entire tavern to see if their escaped prisoner was hiding. They didn’t care to know that invisibility was the oldest trick in a witch’s grimoire. When they walked toward Gothel’s table, they found nothing but three witches giving them the evil eye. 

“Where’s Gothel?” Pete demanded.

“If you refuse to hand her over to us, we’ll have no choice but to arrest you and sentence you to death,” Stan said. 

“Arrested and sentenced to death? What a dreadfully savage fate for three harmless spinsters,” Sugracha replied. 

“We just came to this tavern to have fun and share stories,” Drizella lied. 

“It would be a shame if the bartender kicked you out for causing such a disturbance among his guests,” Lady Caine said. 

“Bartender? What bartender?” the Captain of the Guard asked. 

The bartender tapped Pete and Stan’s father on the shoulder. The Captain of the Guard turned around and almost screamed. 

“We don’t serve food or drinks to the King’s men,” the bartender said. 

“We aren’t hungry or thirsty,” the Captain of the Guard replied. “We are looking for a succubus of Satan. I know she’s around here somewhere.” 

“Why don’t you go look in the woods? Lots of witches live there,” Drizella suggested. 

“Alright. Gentlemen, let’s take a walk through the Enchanted Forest and see if there are any witches in need of holy discipline.” 

Pete and Stan followed their father out of the tavern. Once they had left, Gothel snapped her fingers and appeared at the table. 

“Are you alright, Mother?” Lady Caine asked.

“I’m fine,” Gothel replied. “Thanks for saving my life. I almost thought that I would be shackled and chained up in the dungeon again. I was the King’s prisoner for three months. He sometimes visited me to bring me tea, cakes, and sandwiches, but denied me fruits and vegetables as his way of mocking me. He knew that I was a gardener. He wanted to keep the bad seed from growing and thriving.” 

“How did it feel to be the King’s prisoner?” Drizella inquired. 

“I felt as if I was a scorned madwoman locked inside the basement of a nobleman’s mansion.”

A hook-handed waiter and a peg-legged waitress approached Gothel’s table. The waiter carried a platter of sauerkraut, bratwurst, schnitzel, and three double cheeseburgers. The waitress held eight mugs of butterbeer on a silver tray. Both the platter and the mugs were placed on the table.

“Thank you,” Gothel said. 

“You’re welcome,” the waitress said. 

The witches proceeded to feast like a trio of redneck pigs chewing the flesh from the carcass of a slaughtered wolf. 

“It amazes me that the wealthy have plenty of food while the peasants starve or steal from their neighbors to feed themselves,” Lady Caine mused, nibbling on her schnitzel. 

“Are you suggesting that the commoners should kill and eat the rich?” Drizella replied. 

“I’m suggesting nothing of the sort. I’m just saying that the monarchy is more civilized and cultured than their subjects. Remember that we are living in a kingdom that’s been plagued by fifteen years of famine. In this world, it’s eat or be eaten. Kill or be killed. Curse or be cursed.” 

Gothel snatched a handful of bratwurst from Sugracha’s plate. She broke the sausage into pieces and stuffed them into her mouth. Sugracha winced as her mistress chewed with her mouth open to spite her. After she swallowed her food, Gothel resumed talking to her companions. 

“Speaking of a kingdom plagued by famine, His Majesty views witches as vermin. His radical views are disgustingly inaccurate. If you ask me, the real vermin in this world are the street rats in the towns and cities. They’re the ones who should be eliminated from society. If they want an enemy to fight against, then they should wage war against the commoners.” 

“I hate the concept of war,” Lady Caine protested. “What’s it good for? Nothing. It’s childish and nonsensical.” 

The coven’s leader smiled at her followers. 

“War isn’t childish or nonsensical. The outcome depends on who the enemy is and what you’re fighting for.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Image source: [Mother Gothel](https://disney.fandom.com/wiki/Mother_Gothel/Gallery?file=Mother_Gothel.jpg)


	8. Gingerbread

_"Let's help ourselves to a good meal. I'll eat a piece of the roof, and Gretel, you eat from the window. That will be sweet."_

* * *

Gretel woke up alongside her brother. She sat upright, stretching her arms and yawning. Last night, she had the strangest dream. She dreamt that she was being burned at the stake whilst being ogled by a dirty priest. Despite the fact that she would have died from inhaling the smoke, she switched places with the priest, turning the tables on her enemy. The thought of having a priest barbecued to death made her mouth water and her stomach growl. 

“Wake up, little brother,” Hansel’s sister said. 

Awakening from his slumber, Gretel’s brother roared like a dragon and smiled at his sister. Cassandra sat on a bench between the siblings.

“Good morning, Hansel and Gretel,” Gothel’s daughter giggled. 

“Good morning, Cassandra,” Gretel replied. 

“Are you going to leave the garden now?” Cassandra asked. 

“Yes, we are,” Hansel said. 

“Thanks for letting us spend the night,” Gretel said. 

“You’re welcome,” Cassandra replied. “I hope that my Mom comes back. I hate being lonely.”

Gretel walked up to Cassandra and kissed her on the forehead. Holding the little girl’s hand, she smiled at the child. 

“As long as you have somebody to care for you and protect you, you will never be alone.” 

“Thanks, Gretel,” Cassandra replied. 

“You’re welcome, baby girl,” Gretel said. 

Hansel’s sister patted Gothel’s daughter on the head. Taking her brother’s hand, she exited the garden and continued her journey along the road paved with yellow bricks. The siblings took the northern path. 

“Do you want to know what I wish?” Gretel asked her brother during their stroll. 

“What?” Hansel replied.

"I wish that our parents weren't such Puritans. This is the twentieth century, not the Middle Ages or the Renaissance. Modern society should be evolving instead of regressing. Don’t you think it’s tragic that certain groups of people are stuck in the past?” 

“It’s a tragedy,” Hansel agreed. 

“To make matters worse, anti-witchcraft activism is increasing,” Gretel continued. “Witches are still viewed as the midnight hags from children’s nightmares and bedtime stories. The Church of Corona doesn’t care if their victims are innocent. If a witch happens to be arrested, then she must be tortured or destroyed. That’s the way it’s always been in this kingdom.”

“Just because it’s what’s done doesn’t mean it’s what should be done,” Hansel replied. 

“Exactly! Don’t you understand, dear brother? Nothing good comes from those who believe witches to be inherently wicked. Those who stereotype outsiders as predatory monsters are covering their own asses to avoid painting themselves as the true villains of their stories. Though I know that there are plenty of heroic and chivalrous Christians in this kingdom, I strongly believe that sinners outweigh the saints. There are more demons than angels in our society today."

“Such a tragic truth,” Hansel replied.

“The truth always hurts when lies fail to injure,” Gretel agreed. 

Hansel stopped to see a raven perched on the branch of a juniper tree. He recognized the raven as Diablo. He was an avian warlock and the husband of Maleficent. 

“Are you lost?” Diablo asked. 

“We are looking for food and shelter,” Gretel replied. 

“Follow me,” Diablo instructed.

The raven spread his wings and took flight. The siblings followed him. Hansel and Gretel entered a clearing where he perched on the triangular roof of a gingerbread cottage. The walls of the cottage were decorated with hard candies in the shapes of screaming faces. Gretel noticed that buttermilk pancakes covered the roof. The candy-colored stained glass in the windows was made of translucent sugar. Life-sized lollipops and candy canes grew around the cottage in the form of a fence. 

“This is the Blind Witch’s cottage,” Gretel realized. 

“It’s delicious,” Hansel remarked. 

“The sight of it makes me hungry," Gretel said.

"No kidding! This entire cottage looks like a diabetic’s worst nightmare."

"We should probably go easy on all of the sugar," Gretel decided. 

Hansel’s stomach growled. The berries from Gothel’s garden didn’t satisfy his appetite. He walked up to one of the trees near the house. Gummy bears and gummy worms dangled from the branches. He plucked one of the candies from the tree and began to eat them. Gretel noticed what her brother was doing. She walked up to him and smacked the half-eaten gummy bear out of his hand. 

“What was that for?” Hansel asked.

“Hansel, stop it! Don’t eat the candy from this cottage,” Gretel scolded her brother. 

“Why not?” Hansel replied.

“Because we haven’t been invited,” Gretel explained. 

“But I’m hungry!” Hansel whined. 

“Then let’s go inside,” Gretel said. 

Opening one of the windows, Gretel climbed into the house with her brother and entered the kitchen of the gingerbread cottage. Portraits of gingerbread children decorated the red-and-white striped walls. Hansel spotted a table in the center of the room. The table was laden with platters of sausage rolls, meat pies, barbecued ribs, and buffalo wings. At the end of the table sat the Blind Witch in her rocking chair. Gretel knew that the old woman went by many names. Despite the stories she heard, she didn’t appear as ferocious or bloodthirsty as the rumors stereotyped her to be. She wore a black Victorian gown and black fingerless gloves, with a necklace of gingerbread biscuits and the bones from her previous meals. She clutched a meat cleaver in her right hand. Her grey hair was worn in an unkempt fashion that reminded Hansel’s sister of dreadlocks. 

“Is she dead?” Hansel asked.

“She’s asleep,” Gretel replied. “I can hear her breathing.”

Gretel’s brother approached the table. Ignoring his sister’s warning, he grabbed a sausage roll from the table and took a bite. His presence was sensed by the Blind Witch. She opened her eyes and sniffed the air. 

“Nibble, nibble, little mouse. I found someone eating in my house,” the Baker snarled. 

The Blind Witch rose from her rocking chair. With her meat cleaver in hand, she walked over to Hansel and grabbed him by his left arm. The crone, being seven-foot-ten, towered over Gretel’s brother. Hansel screamed as loudly as he could. He thought that he was going to be slaughtered and broiled as the main course for the Baker’s supper. 

“Brother!” Gretel shouted. 

The Baker turned toward Gretel. 

“What are you doing in my home? I didn’t invite you here.”

“We come in peace,” Gretel replied. 

“You? Who are you?”

“My name is Gretel. The boy you’re threatening happens to be my brother. We were looking for a place to stay.”

“Why didn’t you say so?” the Blind Witch chuckled “Welcome to my cottage, my dear guests. You must be starving. Have a seat at my table and you'll be treated to a feast that's fit for royalty."

Hansel was released from the Witch’s grasp. He sat down with his sister and their host at the table. The Blind Witch smiled at her guests. She placed her meat cleaver on the windowsill beside her, since she did not wish to appear threatening in the company of her guests. 

“Thank you for inviting us to breakfast,” Gretel said. 

“You’re welcome, dearie,” the Blind Witch replied. 

“So you aren’t going to eat us?” Hansel asked.

“Sweetie, I don’t eat children. I dine on the flesh and blood of Puritans, vegans, criminals, and other spoiled brats. Every Sunday, my victims are lured into my gingerbread house. Once they’ve been fattened up, they are slaughtered, cooked, and eaten. Originally, the exterior of my cottage was constructed from bread and cakes. However, since gingerbread and candy are considered to be sweeter in this day and age, I decided to keep up with the current trends."

“Your cottage is lovely,” Gretel remarked. 

“Thank you,” the Blind Witch said. 

“Aren’t you going to ask us how we found your cottage?” Gretel asked.

“I assume that you’re a pair of autistic siblings who were disowned by your parents?”

“How did you guess?” Hansel gasped. 

“Miss Braeburn never guesses. She knows. You deserve better parents than a cowardly woodcutter and a brainless witch of a stepmother. Why don't you stay with _Nonna_ ? You can be her _nipoti surrogati_."

“That would be lovely,” Gretel replied. 

“Are there other witches who live in this forest?” Hansel asked. 

“I’m the only witch who lives in the northern region of the Dark Forest, but the western woods are home to an entire coven of witches known as the Nightshade Sisters. Their leader is a dreaded dominatrix you should be seriously afraid of.” 

“Who is their leader?” Gretel asked.

“She is the daughter of Maleficent and my oldest enemy. Her surname is Gothel,” the Blind Witch revealed. “I regret being part of her coven. She is everything that her mother despises."

“Why is Gothel hated by her own mother?” Hansel’s sister wondered.

“Maleficent hates her daughter because she is a deadly temptress with a criminal record and a sexually perverted history. She’s a succubus in an old woman’s body. Her powers include brainwashing, manipulation, seduction, and other unholy tactics.” 

“Gothel sounds like a major threat to this kingdom,” Gretel remarked. 

“That’s because she is,” the Blind Witch replied.

“What is her occupation?” Hansel asked. 

“Gothel is a swindler, a gardener, and a serial rapist,” the Blind Witch confirmed. “As for me, I'm a candy-maker, a chef, and a wickedly talented baker who specializes in concocting sconces, cupcakes, meat pies, donuts, and cookies. I enjoy serving brunch, dinner, and the occasional midnight snack.”

“What sort of work shall we be doing as your servants?” Gretel asked. 

“You will be my assistant chef. Your brother shall be my butcher and my scavenger. His job will involve looking for fresh meat.” 

Finishing their breakfast, Hansel and Gretel were led by the Blind Witch into her candy-themed bedroom. A plate of donuts was visible on the bedside table. 

“This shall be your room,” the Blind Witch said to her guests.

“It’s heavenly,” Hansel remarked.

“I’m glad you love my cottage. Feel free to snack on a donut and make yourselves at home.” 

Hansel’s sister sat down on the bed. She removed her cloak and hung it in the closet. Her brother helped himself to the donuts from the plate. Gretel laughed at how much of a pig Hansel was. He had always been known to have an insatiable appetite. Now that they were living under the roof of a hopefully maternal witch, Hansel and Gretel would no longer be eating cheap meals. No more porridge or bread crusts. They were in Heaven. 

“May the Lord bless you for your hospitality,” Hansel said to his surrogate grandmother. 

Gretel’s brother’s words melted the old woman’s heart. She never thought that a pair of visitors would end up being adopted. Not only did she have a family of her own to care for, but she also obtained a pair of servants to teach and feed. Fattening them up would do them wonders. Besides, as the Blind Witch observed as they slept that night, they needed plenty of meat on their bones. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Image source: [Breaking into the House of Sweet Treats](https://onceuponatime.fandom.com/wiki/True_North/Gallery?file=109Candy.png)


	9. Team Mom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **My portrayal of Gothel is meant to be a mixture of her OUAT counterpart mixed with Claude Frollo and the Evil Queen. Like the Evil Queen, she is a self-absorbed sorceress who's obsessed with being the fairest of them all and punishes those who oppose her, but she's also possessive, lustful, and predatory like Frollo. Words cannot describe the type of things she'll be doing to a certain princess once I get around to her backstory.**

_"Only bad witches are ugly."_

* * *

“Guess what, Cassandra? Mommy’s home!” Gothel announced as she dramatically entered her cottage, accompanied by her coven. 

Cassandra, who was sweeping the floor, smiled at the fact that her mother had returned. She almost thought that she had been burned at the stake or hanged from the gallows. That was the sort of fate that normally befell the wickedest of witches. 

“Mommy?” Cassandra gasped.

Feigning a friendly attitude towards her little daughter, Gothel picked up Cassandra and kissed her on the forehead. 

“Yes, sweetie. Mommy has returned, along with her friends. Were you a good baby girl while you were gone?”

“I was on my best behavior,” Cassandra replied. 

“That’s great! What did you do?”

“I swept the floors, did the laundry, made candles, played chess, read two or three books, practiced my combat skills, baked cookies, and cooked dinner for your coven.” 

“What a resourceful child,” Drizella remarked. 

“She’s kind of cute, but a lousy little pest,” Gothel whispered to Sugracha. 

“All children are pests,” Lady Caine declared. 

“Why do you leave your little girl on her own while you’re busy with us?” Sugracha asked. 

“Because good mothers put their own needs before the incessant demands of their children. I thought of selling her to the Stabbington Brothers, but I changed my mind and decided to keep her as my slave,” Gothel replied. 

“So do you love her or no?” Sugracha asked.

“Do I love her? I love Cassandra in the same way that a scullery maid loves washing dirty dishes. For seven years, I’ve fed, cuddled, bathed, nursed, and burped Cassandra when I wasn’t running errands. I even had the audacity to change her diapers.” 

“Diapers are the worst,” Drizella agreed.

“Would you rather be forced to clean up puddles of urine?” Gothel asked her companion.

“That sounds worse,” Drizella replied.

“Does Cassandra still wear diapers?” Sugracha asked Drizella.

“No, but Cinderella did,” Drizella admitted.

Gothel scowled at Cinderella’s stepsister.

“There’s a reason that humanity invented chamber pots and toilets. I can’t imagine somebody taking pleasure in the act of pissing and shitting themselves in a padded undergarment. It’s sickening. Cassandra’s lucky that I took time to potty-train her. There’s no way she’s staying in diapers. Not in my house.”

“Does that mean I’m a bad girl for loving my diapers?” Cassandra whimpered. 

The witches smiled at their leader’s daughter.

“Yes, honey. Yes, you are.” 

“You’re a devil child!” Sugracha cackled.

“A disgrace!” Drizella chimed in.

“An uncultured heathen!” Gothel hissed. 

Cassandra burst into tears at the thought of being ostracized for enjoying the feeling of being diapered as a baby. She thought of such a childish pleasure as merely strange but harmless. 

“Relax, little one. We’re just kidding,” Gothel reassured her daughter.

“Really?” Cassandra asked.

“Yes, my child,” Gothel replied. 

Wiping the tears from her eyes, Cassandra grabbed her broom and walked over to the corner of the living room so she wouldn’t be in her mother’s way. Her mother always hated it whenever her daughter intervened in her daily plans. Unlike her followers, who were Gothel’s pawns, Cassandra was a menace. The reason she was her mother’s maidservant was because Gothel needed somebody to take care of her house. Cassandra was taught that her mother’s love had to be earned, not given. Sometimes, she was kept waiting in the wings. All she craved was love and attention. She rarely had her wishes granted. Of course, Gothel wasn’t exactly the sort of woman who would be described as nurturing or caring. To describe her as such would be deceiving her little daughter. 

“Alright, my sisters,” Gothel said to her coven. “Let’s head into the kitchen and discuss our plans to overthrow the monarchy.” 

The Nightshade Sisters followed their leader into the kitchen. They sat down at the table. Gothel conjured a plate of horseradish cheese and crackers which she passed around to her companions. Each of the witches grabbed a wedge of cheese and placed them on their crackers, snacking together as if they were a book club and not a coven focused on dominating the kingdom.

“Does anybody have any suggestions on the best way to kill King Frederic?” Gothel asked.

“You should send the birds of the forest to peck out his eyes and blind him,” Drizella suggested. 

“Place burning shoes of iron onto his feet and force him to dance a fatal waltz,” Sugracha said. 

“Sounds awfully Grimm, but effective,” Gothel replied.

“If that doesn’t work out, strip him down to his underwear, place him in a barrel studded with sharp nails, and push him off a cliff.” 

“Turn him into a frog and slam him against your bedroom wall,” Lady Caine recommended. 

“While all of these suggestions are wonderful, I have a better idea,” Gothel revealed. 

“What’s your idea?” Drizella asked.

“We should give His Majesty a taste of his own medicine. Fight fire with fire,” Gothel replied. 

“What does she mean?” Drizella said to Gothel’s companions.

Gothel smirked wickedly at Cinderella’s stepsister. 

“We shall burn the King alive. At the stake. In the courtyard. In front of his subjects. That, Miss Tremaine, shall be our sweet revenge.” 

“That sounds risky,” Drizella pointed out.

“Fine! Instead of burning His Majesty at the stake, we can just hand out poisoned apples to the King’s men,” Gothel snarled. 

“But what if that plan doesn’t work?” Sugracha argued.

“Then we shall find some other method of overthrowing the monarchy. Besides, I have plenty of recipes for disaster within the pages of my grimoire.” 

“What’s a grimoire?” Drizella asked.

The other witches stared at Cinderella’s stepsister as if she had asked for directions on how to get to Sesame Street. 

“Do you seriously not know what a grimoire is?” Gothel snapped.

“I’m serious,” Drizella replied.

“A grimoire, otherwise known as a Book of Shadows, is a book used by witches and wizards. Grimoires contain charms, incantations, chants, recipes, and curses. Some witches have grimoires. Others work their craft without literary aid.” 

“Is there a spell that can grant the gift of flight to primates or turn apple trees into anthropomorphic fiends?” Drizella asked.

“There are spells for everything. My grimoire was given to me by the Dark One himself in exchange for my immortal soul.”

“The Dark One?” Sugracha asked.

“She’s referring to the one and only Rumplestiltskin,” Drizella replied. “Unlike the Dark One, our mistress has no interest in children or parenting.” 

“Then why did she reproduce?” Sugracha wondered. 

“Because I wanted a maidservant,” Gothel sighed. 

“A maidservant?” Drizella asked. 

Gothel nodded. She smiled, attempting to hide her exasperation towards her seven-year-old daughter. The witch’s innocent offspring was not aware of the fact that she was the source of inappropriate arousal. There was something about Cassandra that made Gothel wish to sleep with her and keep her by her side, though her mother truly desired a child of royal birth to enslave and dominate. 

“May I please ask you a serious question?” Drizella said.

“Ask and I shall answer,” Gothel replied.

“Are you a dominatrix?” 

“Personally, I identify as a domineering matriarch who knows how to keep my little pest of a daughter in her place. You see, my beautiful sisters, children are slaves whose sole existence relies on their ability to listen and obey without questioning or argument. They needed to be dominated in order for them to grow and thrive in this world. Bear the riding crop and spank the child. That’s what I always do.” 

“Do you experience pleasure in the punishment of your daughter?” Sugracha asked. 

“Pleasure comes in many forms, my dear,” Gothel replied. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am going into the basement to spend some quality time with myself.” 

“What should we do with the kid?” Drizella asked.

“You may torment her, if you wish to do so. I’ve already put her through enough labor today. Good night, my sisters.”

“Good night, Mother,” the witches replied.

Gothel descended into the lower room of her cottage. Her basement was a shrine that paid homage to Her Majesty, the Evil Queen. Displayed throughout the room were the three items that Snow White’s stepmother had used in an attempt to kill her virginal stepdaughter, including the infamous basket of poisoned apples. Due to being so ancient, the apples would have naturally rotted with age, but were preserved due to being enchanted by the foulest form of witchcraft. Fittingly, the walls of the basement were adorned with seven mirrors. The seventh mirror was the same Magic Mirror that the Evil Queen consulted in order to make sure she was the fairest in the land. Cassandra’s mother approached the mirror and knocked on the glass three times. She chanted:

“Magic mirror, on the wall,

Who in this land is the fairest of all?” 

Gothel’s mother appeared on the other side of the mirror. Known as the Mistress of Evil, she was Cinderella’s Fairy Godmother and the Dark Queen of Fairies. She lived with her subjects, the Dark Fairies, in her castle in the northwestern woods.

“Hello, Mom,” Gothel snarled.

“Good evening, Belladonna,” Maleficent said. 

“Do you wish to know of the wicked scheme that I’ve been plotting?” Gothel asked. 

“Does your wicked scheme involve the downfall of His Majesty?” 

“How do you know this?” Gothel demanded.

“I can read your mind. Your desires and plans are no secret to your dear mother. She knows everything about you. She even knows that you often fantasize about Her Majesty’s future child.” 

“My kinky fantasies shouldn’t be any of your concern!” Gothel snarled at her mother.

“Your fantasies aren’t kinky. They’re perverted.” 

“That’s your opinion.”

“Opinions aren’t facts, Belladonna. Don’t you know that it’s unholy for a mother to be attracted to her child?” 

“A child is the property of their parents,” Gothel contradicted. “Parents are allowed to do whatever they want with their little brats. Besides, what in the name of Hades do you know about perversion? Your husband is a raven.”

“Wrong! My husband is a warlock who enjoys being a raven,” Maleficent replied.

“That doesn’t make it any less sickening. Bestiality is a deadly sin, Mom. I thought you would be aware.” 

“Is it truly bestiality if the beast was actually human to begin with?” Maleficent argued. 

Gothel became dumbstruck by her mother’s reply. She had no idea how to properly respond without igniting Maleficent’s wrath. Her mother was infamous for her dangerously wicked temper. 

“Heed my warning, Belladonna. Mother may know best, but she doesn’t know everything about the world.” 

“I know more than you. All you know is how to abandon your children,” Gothel snapped. 

“I abandoned you because you’re a menace to society.” 

“And what are you?” 

“That is not for you to know,” Maleficent replied.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Gothel demanded. 

Gothel never received an answer from her mother. Maleficent twirled around and vanished from within the Magic Mirror. Cassandra’s mother glared at herself. She felt as if her life was a tragic fairy tale. First, she was disowned by her mother on her thirteenth birthday. Then, she gave birth to that bratty little maidservant who dared to refer to her mistress as Mommy. 

“So Mother wants me to be the bad guy, does she? Fine. Now I’m the bad guy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Image source: [Cassandra's Mother](https://disney.fandom.com/wiki/Mother_Gothel/Gallery?file=Rapunzel%27s_Return_%2811%29.jpg)


	10. A Little Priest

_ "Well, whichever way you look at it, it's still cannibalism."  _

* * *

Three weeks passed since Hansel and Gretel had been adopted by the Blind Witch. Gretel learned to cook and prepare meals using the recipes of her surrogate grandmother, while her brother was responsible for luring foolhardy victims into the gingerbread house so he could make proper meals for them before they became the main course. On this particular evening, the Blind Witch led her apprentice into the kitchen and helped her to remove a gooseberry pie from the oven.

“Do you know what today is?” the old woman asked.

“Sunday?” Gretel replied.

“Smart girl! Yes, dearie. Today is Sunday. "Since today is a feast day, I will be having a lovely, fat, and juicy priest for dinner. He can be found within the basement of my cottage.” 

“Is he a dirty old man?” Gretel wondered.

“He is a perfectly plump piggy, but he does not commit sins of the flesh, so he’s quite fresh. There’s nothing more satisfying to an old hag’s eyes than a fat pig. Pigs are one of my favorite meals.” 

“If priests are pigs, then what are vegans?” Gretel asked.

“Herbivores,” the Blind Witch replied.

Gretel’s surrogate grandmother conjured a tray of cheeseburgers, French fries, and chicken nuggets. She handed the tray to her apprentice. 

“Bring the priest’s dinner to him. Since this will be his last supper, he will have plenty of time to indulge in gluttony until he is ready to be slaughtered for my evening meal. His intestines shall be ground into sausages, his liver shall be fried in butter, and his heart will be roasted to perfection.”

“Will I be able to have a piece of him?” Gretel asked.

“Certainly not! You’ll be getting crab cakes, and Hansel will be receiving a roasted Cornish hen,” the Blind Witch replied. “It is not proper for an apprentice to eat from the same plate as their master. I would rather have you dine by yourselves than have you eat me out of house and home.”

Firmly grasping the tray by the handles, Hansel’s sister followed her mistress downstairs into her candy-themed basement. On both sides of the walls were three brick ovens.

"Welcome to my dungeon of human-sized ovens, where my meals are cooked,” the Blind Witch told Gretel. 

“Those ovens are huge,” Gretel observed. 

“Yes, they are.”

“You could fit a whole person in there!"

“Sometimes, when you come down here, you can enjoy the aroma of burning flesh and hear the screams of my victims as they're being cooked." 

“Is this a dungeon or a crematorium?” Gretel asked. 

“Both.” 

“How enchantingly morbid,” Gretel remarked.

The Blind Witch chuckled as she led Gretel toward a barred iron door at the end of the corridor. Unlocking the door with a snap of her fingers, she led her apprentice into a wooden room that resembled a stable. Sitting on a bed of straw was the fattened priest who was condemned to eat his last meal before being made into dinner. The priest crossed himself at the sight of his captor, but took pity on Gretel, whom he thought was the Blind Witch’s prisoner. Gretel set the tray on a table beside the priest. 

“Enjoy your meal. It will be your last,” Hansel’s sister said. 

“Has that ungodly woman bewitched you?” the priest asked. “Has she enslaved you with her Satanic powers and taken you under her wing?” 

“Indeed, she has,” Gretel replied, playing along with the priest’s misinformed conceptions. 

“Her soul cannot be saved,” the Blind Witch said. 

The priest looked up at Gretel with mournful eyes. 

“Does our captor mean to keep me fed until I am slaughtered and broiled?” 

“Baked, not broiled,” Gretel answered. 

“What do you mean?” the priest asked.

“She intends to prepare you for her oven.” 

“May Heaven preserve me! Is there no God in this demon’s prison? Why must I be made to suffer as a victim of witchcraft?” the priest lamented. 

“Because you have sinned,” Gretel declared. 

“But I am one of God’s men. I am untouched by sin.” 

“Just because you’re one of God’s men doesn’t mean you are inherently incorruptible. Even the holiest men are able to be seduced by Satanic influences and persuaded to follow the beaten path.”

“How can that be? I have led a pious life,” the priest argued.

“Not pious enough, but don’t worry, my dear. Your flesh shall be succulent, tasty, and delicious. Trust me, darling, you're going to make a wonderful Sunday roast." 

The Blind Witch chuckled at Gretel’s remark.

“What is your name, if I may ask?” Hansel’s sister asked.

“My dear child, do you not know me? I am the Reverend Herz Der Sonne of the Church of Corona.”

The reveal of the priest’s name awakened memories in Gretel’s mind. Memories of witches being hunted, arrested, and burned at the stake for crimes that originated from the fact that they dared to exist among mortals who feared them. Memories of stories involving God’s men preaching His Majesty’s law but engaging in sinful deeds behind their monarch’s back. She at once knew that this man was not as holy as he claimed to be. For a moment, she thought that he was able to sense her true nature as a witch in training. If this was the case, he did not have her power. She was in control. Not him. 

“Mr. Der Sonne? I knew I recognized you by your timid voice,” Gretel realized.

“Who are you?” the Reverend asked. 

“It doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t know my name. All you need to know is that I am the servant of the Wicked Witch of the Northern Woods. She is my mistress. You are her latest meal.” 

“Lies! You speak in jest.”

“I am as serious as I am hungry,” Gretel replied. 

“You are?”

“Now, eat up! You need to be fattened for her feast.” 

Not wishing to argue with the servant of one of the most fearsome witches in Corona, the Reverend Herz Der Sonne proceeded to stuff himself with the junk food that had been offered to him. 

“What a glutton,” the Blind Witch remarked. 

“A gluttonous bastard,” Gretel agreed. 

An obnoxiously loud belch from the Reverend’s mouth rang loudly and clearly in Gretel’s mind. Apparently, the unholy man lacked table manners, as well as a knife and fork to eat with. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Image source: [Witch's Dungeon](https://onceuponatime.fandom.com/wiki/Dark_Castle/Gallery?file=112CantJustLeaveMe.png)


	11. Heretic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **In case anybody is wondering why Rapunzel is referenced but not tagged, the answer is simple: She hasn't been born yet.**

_"Magic does not belong in this world. It's unholy. We're here to cleanse this land of it!"_

* * *

“Onward, men! We won’t stop until Gothel is found and captured,” the Captain of the Guard said to his soldiers. 

The Captain’s army was not alone. They were led by Her Majesty, Queen Arianna. The King’s wife thought it would be a grand idea to be the leader of the King’s men. They were in desperate need of feminine companionship. 

“What if she captures us?” Stan argued.

“Then we fight back and kill the bitch,” Pete replied. 

“How do we know that she can be killed?” Queen Arianna asked.

“Our swords are made of silver. Silver is poisonous to witches.”

“Don’t forget pepper,” Stan said. 

"What about holy water?" Peter suggested.

"That's twice as effective," the Captain of the Guard replied.

Entering the western woods, the King’s men crossed a bridge and approached Gothel’s cottage. There were thirteen soldiers in the Captain's army. Thirteen was considered to be a lucky number in the society of Corona. They thought of the number as a symbol of protection against Satanic forces such as witches and demons. 

"Here we are. The home of the witch," the Queen said.

“Remember to keep your voice down,” the Captain of the Guard told his sons.

“Why do you want us to be quiet?” Stan asked.

“Because I said so.” 

The Captain of the Guard kicked the door open, storming his way inside. Pete and Stan followed their father’s army into the cottage. 

“Halt! In the name of the King!”

The soldiers found Cassandra sweeping the floor, humming along to a tune that played from a music box seated on the table. Standing still as statues, the men struggled to hold back their tears as they listened to the child’s song:

_Guess by now I ought to know my place,_

_Do your humble duties with a smile on your face._

_Mommy knows how much I love her,_

_But she’s always doing other things,_

_So I’ll keep waiting in the wings._

Cassandra sniffled, wiping tears from her eyes. She turned around and smiled at the King’s men. 

“Hello, little girl,” the Captain of the Guard said.

“I know you! You’re the man who arrested my Mommy,” Cassandra remembered.

“Is your mother at home?” Queen Arianna asked. 

“No. She’s busy.” 

“Busy with what?” the Captain of the Guard demanded.

“Her errands,” Cassandra replied. 

Stan walked up to Cassandra and grabbed her by the arm. Cassandra screamed as she shouted at the guard to let go of her. The Captain’s son ignored her cries. 

“Now that we’ve got you, you’re going to tell us everything you know about your mother’s so-called errands,” Stan hissed at Gothel’s daughter.

“Everything? Like what?” Cassandra asked.

“Where does she go? What does she do? Tell us!” 

“I can’t,” Cassandra whimpered. 

“If you don’t tell us, we’ll have no choice but to arrest you and deliver you to His Majesty. Is that what you want?”

“Michael, stop it!” Queen Arianna cried out.

“No! I want my Mommy!” 

“Her Mommy?” Pete whispered to his brother.

“She’s Gothel’s daughter,” Stan replied.

“Gothel has a daughter? Was she adopted or stolen?”

“Neither. She was born from that old witch’s womb.” 

“But how is that possible? Everybody knows that Gothel is an old-fashioned woman. She's one-hundred-and-forty-one years old. It would be biologically inconceivable for such an ancient demon to produce a beautiful child.”

“Not if there’s magic involved,” the Captain of the Guard argued.

"Or a seriously desperate husband," Stan remarked.

“Does anybody remember the Virgin Mary?” the King’s wife asked her soldiers.

The guards nodded. 

“Mary gave birth to Jesus, and yet she did not have intercourse in order to conceive. God was her father and her husband.” 

“Who is Cassandra’s father?” Stan asked.

“Nobody knows,” the King’s wife replied.

Pete and Stan’s father screamed as Cassandra’s teeth sank into his right arm. 

He backed away from the child, startled by the sight of her smile which was full of shark’s teeth. 

“She isn’t being cooperative,” Pete whispered to his brother.

“Such a rebellious little bitch, if you ask me,” Stan replied. 

“What must be done?” Pete asked his father.

The Captain of the Guard took out a pair of handcuffs from the pocket of his trousers and fastened them around Cassandra’s wrists. 

“Let go of me!” Cassandra screamed.

“Young lady, you are under arrest for refusing to reveal information regarding Gothel’s whereabouts,” the Captain of the Guard said.

“Stop!” the King’s wife commanded.

Pete, Stan, and their father glanced at their monarch. 

“Are you outside of your mind? We shouldn’t be arresting this child. Her mother is the wicked one. Not her.”

“But she’s a witch’s daughter, is she not?” Stan argued. 

“That doesn’t mean she’s an exact clone of her mother,” the King’s wife pointed out. “Don’t you see that she is oblivious to her creator’s true nature? Leave the poor girl alone.” 

“The Devil’s servants wear many masks, Your Majesty, but none are so convincing as the mask of innocence,” the Captain of the Guard said to Her Majesty. 

“But do you know what innocence truly is, Michael? I’m sure that you don’t. Your army refers to themselves as God’s men, and yet the atrocities they’ve committed in the Lord’s name are anything but godly. How much innocent blood has been shed in the name of societal purity? How many lives have been lost simply because of something that the people of my kingdom refuse to respect or understand?” 

“It is not Her Majesty’s place to argue with her husband’s royal laws. You can’t send a woman to do a man’s job.” 

“However, you can easily send a group of middle-aged men to arrest a little girl and sentence her to death simply because she’s the daughter of a perverted criminal. That sounds perfectly reasonable, doesn’t it?” the Queen snapped at the Captain of the Guard. 

The Captain of the Guard remained stoic as Her Majesty invaded his personal space. She stared at him, watching him like a hawk.

“Doesn’t it?” 

“I’m simply doing what’s best for the King and his kingdom. I’m an enforcer of the law and a supporter of the greater good. That’s my occupation.” 

“If you ask me, you should reconsider your choice in leaders,” the King’s wife replied. 

The Queen released Cassandra from her shackles and handed them back to the Captain of the Guard. 

“Thank you,” Cassandra said.

“You’re welcome, baby girl,” Queen Arianna replied.

“What are we going to do now?” Stan asked.

The King’s wife smiled at her royal soldiers.

“We are going to do what Her Majesty does best. We are going to hunt down the problem and resolve it before more innocent blood is spilled. It’s better to be the hunter than the prey.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Image source: [Baby Cassandra](https://disney.fandom.com/wiki/Cassandra_\(Tangled\)/Gallery?file=Rapunzel%27s_Return_%2821%29.jpg)


	12. Conjuration

_ "Double, double, toil and trouble. Fire burn and cauldron bubble." _

* * *

Meanwhile, within the courtyard of His Majesty’s palace, Gothel and her coven stood around a bubbling cauldron where their recipe for disaster was brewing. 

"Guess what, my dear sisters?" Gothel asked her followers.

"Yes, Mother?" Drizella asked.

“The time has come,” Gothel announced.

“Shall we begin the ritual?” Drizella asked. 

“Yes, we shall,” Sugracha said. 

"This is going to be so epic!" Drizella squealed. 

Gothel smirked at her companions. 

“Midnight hags, hear my call, will this night be the moment when His Majesty shall fall?” 

“Victory will be ours, once and for all,” Drizella replied. 

“The King’s blood shall be shed, and all of his followers will be as good as dead,” Sugracha replied. 

“And we shall have our cake and bread,” Drizella concluded.

“What about the peasantry?”

“They will suffer as we indulge in pleasantry.” 

The witches cackled in unison as thunder roared overhead. A storm of destruction was brewing in the heavens. Dark clouds blocked out the moon, blanketing the kingdom in its morbid embrace. Gothel looked up at the sky and smiled. Her desire for revenge against the oppression of her people was slowly being fulfilled. The King would be conquered and his kingdom would be shrouded in eternal darkness. The perfect victory for a vengeful soul such as Gothel. 

“It’s too bad Cassandra’s not here to see this,” Drizella remarked.

“Why should she? She is of no importance to me,” Gothel replied. 

“But she’s your daughter.”

“She’s also my slave,” Gothel reminded her companions. 

“Child slaves are the best slaves,” Sugracha said. 

“They know when to submit, when to obey, and how to respect their elders,” Gothel agreed. 

“Is everybody ready to conjure chaos?” Drizella asked.

“We’re ready as we’ll ever be,” Gothel replied.

“Alright, everybody. Let’s join hands and begin our spell.”

Holding each other’s hands, the witches danced around the cauldron and sang:

_ Intorno al Potron vai: _

_ Nel tiro di interiora avvelenato. _

_ Rospo, quello sotto la pietra fredda _

_ Giorni e notti ha trentuno _

_ Veleno sudato che dorme ottenuto, _

_ Fai bollire per primo nella pentola incantata. _

_ Doppia, doppia fatica e difficoltà; _

_ Bruciatura del fuoco e bolla di calderone. _

_ Filetto di serpente fenny, _

_ Nel calderone far bollire e cuocere; _

_ Occhio di tritone e punta di rana, _

_ Lana di pipistrello e lingua di cane, _

_ Forchetta di Adder e pungiglione di cieco, _

_ Gamba di lucertola e ala di owlet. _

_ Per un incantesimo di guai potenti, _

_ Come un brodo e una bolla di brodo infernale. _

_ Doppia, doppia fatica e difficoltà; _

_ Brucia fuoco e bolla di cannone. _

While thunder continued to rumble, a puff of green smoke erupted from Gothel’s cauldron and formed into a thick fog that covered the courtyard. 

“Is everything going according to our plan?” Drizella asked.

“Everything’s happening exactly as our mistress envisioned,” Sugracha replied. 

“Our dreams are coming true!” Drizella cheered.

“Tonight will be known as the moment when the great Mother Gothel killed His Majesty and condemned Corona to eternal suffering,” Gothel declared.

“Not if His Majesty has anything to say about it.” 

Gothel turned around. The King’s royal adviser, a steward named Nigel, stood behind her.

“Have you been stalking us this whole time?” Gothel hissed.

“Actually, I was silently observing you from behind a bush,” Nigel replied. 

“Damm it!” Drizella snarled. “We’ve been spotted by a commoner.”

“A commoner? I am a man of noble birth,” Nigel argued.

“Really? Where are your parents?” Gothel retorted. 

“I don’t have any.”

“He’s a pathetic orphan who’s worked his way into His Majesty’s favor,” Gothel realized. 

“What a pity,” Sugracha said.

“That’s what I thought. Drizella, do you mind putting this miserable bitch’s son out of his misery?” 

Drizella smiled as she walked toward Nigel. The King’s adviser slowly stepped backwards. Without warning, Cinderella’s stepsister snapped her fingers and the bones in Nigel’s neck. The steward’s body collapsed to the floor. Gothel laughed at her victim’s unfortunate demise. 

“Who do I get to kill next?” Drizella giggled. 

“You shall end a life of my choosing,” Gothel replied.

“May I please kill His Majesty?”

“No, you may not. That’s Mother’s job.”

Drizella pouted and walked over to a corner of the courtyard where she sat down to sulk in her sorrow. Gothel smiled at the thought of getting the chance to give His Majesty a taste of his own medicine. Her obsession with revenge was interrupted by her fantasies of the Queen’s unborn child. In her mind’s eye, she witnessed a seven-month-old princess with emerald eyes and three feet of flaxen hair that seemed to have been spun from golden sunshine. Could this be the Princess of Pampers? Gothel hoped she was. She wanted that baby princess all to herself. The child would be hers for the taking. She did not know the little girl’s name, but she suspected that it would be botanical. Gothel prayed to the Gods that the child wouldn’t be given a name such as Holly or Cress. 

“Gothel? Are you here?”

Sugracha tapped her mistress on the shoulder. The coven’s leader snapped out of her mind and focused on her companion. 

“Yes? What do you want? Is something wrong?” Gothel asked.

“I was wondering if your master plan involved summoning an apocalyptic storm to wipe out humanity?” 

“Honey, I’m a witch, not a deity,” Gothel replied. “I’m not as powerful as my mother.” 

“You’re certainly not,” the Dark Queen of Fairies said, appearing beside her daughter.

“Mom? What the fuck are you doing here?” Gothel demanded. 

“I’m here to prevent this kingdom from being destroyed by your own version of the Dark Curse. Do you realize what you’re conjuring?”

“A solution to my situation?” Gothel replied.

“More like an apocalypse,” Gothel’s mother argued. 

“I thought you wanted me to be evil like you? Isn’t that how you raised me? To be the greatest villain who ever lived?” Maleficent’s daughter asked.

“Excuse me, but I’m the greatest villain who’s ever lived. You’re nothing like me. You’re a disgrace and a menace to society. Do you think I don’t know your heart? You are the most vile, disgusting, and sickening creature to ever exist in the Tri-Kingdom Area. I may have been blessed with a granddaughter, but I’m cursed with a rapist who shouldn’t even be known as my offspring. I even know of the things you plan on doing to Her Majesty’s daughter once she’s been born.”

“I was only imagining what it would be like as the Fairy Godmother of the Queen’s baby girl,” Gothel lied. 

“I know what you’re imagining. You aren’t a Godmother or a mother of any kind. You’re a monster.” 

“I know you are, but what am I?” Gothel snapped. 

“I’m nothing like you. I’m not a liar, or a criminal, or some twisted predator who fantasizes about babies and believes that drugging your partner is the equivalent of consent. You are the monster. I’m the victim in your story.” 

“You’re the victim? Sorry, but if I remember clearly, you cursed an infant princess out of spite!” Gothel retorted. “You can’t play the pity card with me. You and I both know that you’re just as wicked as I am.”

“You’re not wicked. You’re disgusting.” 

“And you’re a bitch.”

“What did you call me?” Maleficent snarled.

“I meant what I said.”

Gothel stepped away from her enraged mother. If looks could kill, Maleficent’s eyes could have easily functioned as daggers that would have been powerful enough to stab their way into her daughter’s heart and cause her to bleed out in front of her companions. 

“What’s the matter, Mom? Did I mumble?” Gothel asked. 

Maleficent snarled at her daughter. 

“Don’t even think about replying to my question with your smartass attitude. Get out of my sight, or I’ll scratch your eyes out.” 

“As you wish,” Maleficent sighed. 

“Now go! Fuck off.”

“Alright, but before I leave, let me warn you.”

“Warn me? Was that a threat?” 

The Dark Queen of Fairies ignored her daughter. She grimaced at her. 

“Some day, the consequences of your crimes shall be revealed, and your punishment will be more painful than you could ever imagine. Goodbye, my wretched daughter.”

Gothel’s mother raised her hands above her head and clapped her hands three times. With a flash of lightning, she vanished in front of her daughter’s eyes. Gothel turned around and smiled at her companions.

“What’s so amusing?” Sugracha asked. 

“Do you wish to know?” Gothel asked.

“We do,” Drizella replied.

“My mother may be the Mistress of Evil, but I’m the Queen of Witches,” Gothel boasted. 

Gothel looked up at the raging storm that dominated the sky. She smiled at the disastrous aftermath of the spell she conjured with help from the members of her coven. There truly was no end to her power. 

“Let all of Corona be agreed. I’m monstrous through and through.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Image source: [Mother of the Coven](https://onceuponatime.fandom.com/wiki/Gothel/Gallery?file=710NotOver.png)


	13. Between Two Witches

_"You can't leave without a treat."_

* * *

The Wicked Witch of the West walked up to the gingerbread house. Knocking on the door three times, she waited for the occupant of the cottage to answer. She hated being kept waiting. Since nobody wanted to answer, she opened the door and walked into the kitchen. The Blind Witch was removing a tray of gingerbread men from her human-sized oven. She turned around and grinned at her unexpected guest. 

“Hello, dearie,” Zelena said.

“Mistress West? Is that really you? I thought you were dead and gone,” the Blind Witch gasped.

“I got better."

"That explains why you look so fabulous," the Blind Witch chuckled.

"As for you, dearie, it appears that the gingerbread rumors were true. I’ve heard many stories about you from the villagers of this kingdom.”

“Stories and rumors are one and the same,” the Blind Witch declared. 

“How long have you been living in the northern woods?” Zelena asked.

“The Dark Forest has been my home for ninety years.” 

“Holy shit! You must be super old,” the Western Witch remarked.

“I may be ancient, but there is nothing sacred about my excrement.”

The Western Witch sat down at the table with her rival. The Blind Witch placed the crab cakes on the table and did her best to appear as hospitable as possible.

“Have you captured any tasty little children lately?” Zelena asked.

“I don’t eat kids,” the Blind Witch replied.

“Really? For someone who refers to herself as the Wicked Witch of the Northern Woods, you suck at being villainous.” 

“You’re wonderfully petty,” the Blind Witch retorted. 

“Sweetie, I’m a wicked stepmother. It’s my job to be petty.” 

“You make a better stepmother than a sister. Whose children are you looking after?”

“The children of Ivo. Their names are Hansel and Gretel. Have you seen them?”

“I’ve seen them.”

“Where are they?” Zelena demanded. 

“They’re in the woods, but not at home.”

The Blind Witch meant that Hansel and Gretel were no longer living with their stepmother, but the woodcutter’s wife did not know this. She thought that her stepchildren weren’t currently living with her sworn nemesis. 

“If they’re not at home but they’re in the woods, then where are they?” the Western Witch asked. 

Hansel and Gretel’s surrogate grandmother saw Zelena’s response as the perfect opportunity to change the subject in order to mess with her head. 

“Remember when Dorothy dropped her house on your sister?”

“Yes?” Zelena replied.

“Do you still hate her for stealing your sister’s shoes?” the Blind Witch asked. 

“Honestly, I don’t hate Dorothy as much as I used to,” the Western Witch admitted. “She’s the reason why I chose to abandon Oz altogether and start anew with my husband. You see, I may have changed for the better, but I haven’t changed for good. Quite the opposite, actually.”

“Do you prefer living in the Dark Forest over ruling over Winkie Country?” the Blind Witch replied. 

“Are you kidding me? Becoming Hansel and Gretel’s stepmother was the wickedest thing that’s ever happened to me,” Zelena laughed. 

“I’m sure it is.”

“However, I still want to know where those little brats are hiding.” 

“They aren’t hiding. They’re earning their keep.”

“They’re employed?” the Western Witch asked.

“Hansel is a butcher, and Gretel’s an assistant chef.” 

“Who’s their employer?” Zelena wondered. 

“That would be yours truly.” 

Getting up from her table, the Blind Witch walked up to Zelena and threw her out of her chair. The Western Witch broke her nose, causing her nostrils to bleed after her face met the floor. She turned around and looked up at her attacker. 

“Stay away from my children,” the Blind Witch hissed at her enemy.

“Your children? They’re my property,” Zelena argued.

“Not anymore.” 

The Blind Witch knelt down and grabbed Zelena by her left door. Using all of the strength she had, the elderly baker kicked the Western Witch in the stomach before shoving her out the door. 

“Do my grandchildren a favor and don’t come back here again,” the Blind Witch threatened. 

“What if I come back tomorrow night?” Zelena asked.

“If you do, I’ll make sure that the oven is heated for you, and Gretel will be setting the table for dinner. Do you get the message?”

Understanding her rival’s warning, the Western Witch picked up her hat and placed it on her head. She turned around and began following the yellow brick road back to her husband’s cabin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Image source: [Western Witch](https://onceuponatime.fandom.com/wiki/Chosen/Gallery?file=717WithoutATreat.png)


	14. Witch Hunt Interrupted

_“Wickedness must be punished! Evil effectively eliminated. Wickedness must be punished! Kill the witch.”_

* * *

Queen Arianna sliced her way through a thicket of thorns as she led the King’s men along the northeastern road through the forest. On their journey so far, the royal army had failed to find and capture Gothel. Their assigned mission was to bring the Mistress of the Western Woods to justice. If they returned without Gothel in their clutches, the Captain of the Guard feared that the punishment wouldn’t just involve losing his job, but also his life. As they continued to follow the yellow brick road, the Captain of the Guard and his men came across another army. Unlike the royal army, these soldiers weren’t members of the royal military. They were peasants. Queen Arianna noticed that the army was composed of farmers, bakers, millers, and butchers. Their weapons were the tools of their respective trades. 

“Good evening, Michael,” one of the bakers said.

The Captain of the Guard recognized the baker who greeted him. He was an old, chubby man known as Uncle Monty.

“Hello, Monty,” the Captain of the Guard replied. “What brings you to this side of the woods?”

“We are hunting the wicked witch of the woods.” 

“Which witch?” Stan asked.

“Mother Gothel,” Uncle Monty replied. 

“Is she the woman who brought about the Great Famine that has devastated this kingdom?” the Captain of the Guard asked.

“I believe her to be responsible for cursing this kingdom and our occupations. If we kill her, this nightmare shall end, and everything will be alright once our situation is resolved.”

“Not all happy endings come true,” the Queen commented. 

“But our lives are stories. We are living in a fairy tale, each and every day,” Uncle Monty argued. “Aren’t the forces of wickedness supposed to be conquered by their adversaries in the name of all that is good and sacred in this world?”

“Villains aren’t always punished,” the King’s wife pointed out.

“Sometimes, when you’re determined to catch the bad guy, they always manage to slip out of your handcuffs and run away,” the Captain of the Guard agreed. 

“Truer words were never spoken.”

Both armies stepped aside to reveal that Gothel had appeared behind them. The daughter of Maleficent strutted her way through the crowded group of soldiers, turning around and facing them. She smirked at the Captain’s sons. 

“Speak of the Devil and she shall appear,” the Queen said. 

“I am not the Devil. I am far more terrible than he is,” Gothel replied. 

“What are you?” the Captain of the Guard demanded.

“What am I? I am the demon that parents have nightmares about. I am the midnight hag who stalks children in their sleep. I am the mother of witchcraft and the harlot of beasts. I am Belladonna Amara Jezebel Gothel, the daughter of Maleficent, and I shall have my revenge. Your people have murdered my family for far too long. Now it’s your turn to be judged and executed.” 

Reaching within the cleavage of her black-and-purple gown, Gothel took out a silver knife which she used to cut her thumb with. The witch’s blood dripped onto the ground. The soil absorbed her blood and resulted in the growth of vines. The vines wrapped around the feet of the Captain’s army, squeezing their bodies tightly and suffocating them without mercy. Their bodies dropped onto the floor of the forest. The vines sank back into the ground from whence they came. Only the Captain of the Guard was left standing. He looked down and saw the corpses of his sons. Looking back at Gothel, he handed his sword to Her Majesty. 

“Kill her,” the Captain of the Guard said to the Queen. 

“Why can’t you kill her?” the King’s wife asked.

“Because then she’ll kill me.” 

Queen Arianna screamed like a warrior as she ran toward Gothel and plunged her friend’s sword into her abdomen. Gothel smiled at the King’s wife. 

“Why aren’t you dying?” the Queen asked.

“Because I’m immune to silver,” Gothel replied. 

The Queen pulled the sword out. Gothel’s wound healed itself. Maleficent’s daughter stared down at the corpses of the Captain’s army in admiration of her handiwork. 

“Humans may be cunning, but they aren’t intelligent. They are no match for the demons that came before them.”

“Even demons can be destroyed,” Queen Arianna remarked. 

“What gives you the right to think that you can destroy me?” Gothel snapped. 

“I have the right to believe in whatever I choose to,” the King’s wife said. 

“Then you are a fool who is unaware of what you’re up against. One day, I will have your daughter, and you will know what it is to suffer.”

“My daughter? How do you know about my future child?” the Queen gasped. 

Gothel invaded Her Majesty’s personal space. Grabbing the Queen’s left arm, she pulled the monarch into her embrace and mockingly kissed her.

“I know of your maternal yearning, Your Majesty, and I shall have the fruit which shall soon sprout from your womb. Your baby shall be the object of my desire. I have seen her within my mind’s eye. She is beautiful but innocent. Innocence is what I crave. The perfect lamb for a hungry wolf such as yours truly.” 

The Queen of Corona understood Gothel’s words. She was alarmed and disgusted by the witch’s yearning for the child of her dreams. 

“You’re disgusting!” the King’s wife shouted at Gothel.

“How ironic,” Gothel laughed. “That’s exactly what my mother said to me.”

“Your mother hates you?” the Queen realized.

“She wishes that I had never been born. Of course, I’m alive and kicking, and I’m proud of the monster that I’ve grown to become.”

“Why do you take pride in being so cruel and heartless?” Queen Arianna asked.

“Because it helps me to stand out from the common, vulgar, and weak peasants who fear me during the daytime and hunt me in the darkness of the night,” Gothel replied. 

Letting go of Her Majesty, Gothel stepped back and looked up at the sky. The storm was continuing to brew hours after it had been conjured. 

“What dark sorcery is this?” Uncle Monty wondered.

“My recipe for disaster,” Gothel laughed. 

With a triumphant but overly dramatic cackle, Gothel twirled around as the lightning flashed throughout the forest. The Captain of the Guard grabbed Her Majesty and pulled her away as a tree plummeted, nearly crushing her. 

“You must all be made to pay for your crimes!”

The villagers screamed as more trees tumbled around them. As the Captain of the Guard and the King’s wife followed Uncle Monty out of the forest, the rest of the army was left behind to be squashed by the fallen trees that were brought to life by Gothel’s wrath. Aside from Queen Arianna and her two friends, there were no survivors left to tell the tale of what happened in the northeastern woods that night. Gothel had made her message clear. The next time anybody dared to screw around with her, they would surely perish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Image source: [Midnight Hag](https://onceuponatime.fandom.com/wiki/Gothel/Gallery?file=719GothelLooking.png)


	15. Sins of the Father

_"You wicked children, why did you sleep so long in the woods? We thought that you did not want to come back."_

* * *

“Slow down, Hansel,” Gretel told her brother. “Take it easy! Your breakfast isn’t going anymore.”

“But it’s so yummy in my tummy!” Hansel replied. 

Gretel’s brother licked his lips. He smiled while enjoying his morning meal. On Hansel’s plate were venison sausages braised in beef broth and smothered with honey mustard, served with a side of celery sticks and a glass of cranberry wine. Originally, he was meant to have pancakes and apple pies, but his surrogate grandmother had changed her mind. 

“Aren’t you eating with me?” Hansel asked his sister.

“Thank you for the offer, but I have already dined,” Gretel said. 

“Would you like a glass of wine?” Hansel replied.

“I don’t drink. I’m a sober woman.” 

“Better to be sober than drunk,” Hansel remarked. 

As Hansel resumed eating, the Blind Witch walked into the kitchen. She was whistling a lullaby while carrying a tray of cupcakes and meat pies. The sweet treats were meant to serve as a special dessert for her surrogate grandchildren after tonight’s feast. 

“ _Buongiorno_ , my _piccoli aiutanti_ ,” the old baker said.

“Good morning, Miss Braeburn!” Hansel and Gretel replied in unison. 

The Blind Witch sat down at the table with her surrogate grandchildren. She watched as Hansel finished his breakfast.

“He’s always hungry,” Gretel remarked.

“That’s a good thing,” the Blind Witch replied. “Your brother has an appreciation for food.”

“Although, his appetite is larger than his stomach.”

The Wicked Witch of the Northern Woods laughed in amusement at Gretel’s remark. Hansel’s sister smiled at her guardian.

“Did my darling children sleep well?” the Blind Witch asked.

“Not me,” Gretel said. “I had that nightmare again.”

“Which nightmare? The one about the giant spider who sat down beside you and stole your porridge?” the baker replied.

“No, not that one. The one where I was being burned at the stake by a creepy old priest. I hate priests. They’re the bane of my existence.”

“What did the priest look like?” Hansel wondered.

“He looked like a walking corpse. He was tall and skeletal, with grey hair and fiery eyes that burned into my soul,” Gretel replied. “He promised that he would save from the flames of this world and the next if I pledged to be his concubine.” 

“That sounds terrifying. It’s no wonder you woke up screaming and pleading for your soul to be saved.” 

Gretel shuddered at the thought of being burned alive for real. She did not wish to roast in the fires of Hell simply for the false crime of being a witch. Witches and saints rarely got along with each other. 

“If a member of the clergy came to this cottage in search of a witch to burn, would you hide me?” Gretel asked. 

“I definitely would,” the Blind Witch replied.

Hansel grabbed his emptied plate and got up from the table. As he walked over to the sink to wash his hands, the woodcutter stumbled into the cottage. He felt his way around the kitchen in search of his children. The Blind Witch noticed this unexpected guest and greeted him.

“Who are you?” Ivo demanded. 

Though the woodcutter could not see the old baker, he sensed her presence. She smiled, displaying that were teeth white as sugar.

“I am Miss Braeburn, otherwise known as the Wicked Witch of the Northern Woods. How may I help you?” 

“The Wicked Witch?” the woodcutter gasped.

“That’s me,” the Blind Witch chuckled.

“Where are my children? What have you done to them?” 

“They’re safe with their guardian,” Gretel replied.

“As for you, my dear, you won’t be as lucky,” the Blind Witch cackled, licking her lips as she stared at the woodcutter’s body. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ivo asked.

“How would you like to stay for lunch? Gretel will keep you company in my dungeon, where you’ll be fattened up until you’re ready to be served. I love fat men.” 

The woodcutter screamed as Gretel grabbed him by the arms and led him downstairs to the basement. She led him into his prison where he was seated on a bench and handcuffed. 

“Hello, Dad,” Gretel said.

“Gretel? What’s going on?” Ivo asked. 

“Remember when you disowned me and my brother?” the woodcutter’s daughter recalled.

“It was for your own good,” Ivo replied. “I meant what I said when I told you that I would not have a witch for a daughter.”

“Well, now you do, and she’s going to make sure you’re perfectly plump for her grandmother’s feast. This afternoon, you will be her lunch, and tomorrow, your wife will be the next victim on her menu.” 

“I’d rather starve to death.”

“Nobody starves. Not in this house,” Gretel laughed. 

“So this is my fate? To be fattened and slaughtered like a pig by an elderly butcher? Is there no mercy for me?” 

“If I was merciful, then you wouldn’t be condemned to be killed and eaten,” Gretel replied. “I’ll make sure to prepare plenty of meals for you.”

“It saddens me to know that you’ve fallen under Satan’s spell," Ivo lamented.

"Satan is not my master."

"And yet you have been branded as one of his own."

"You are delusional," Gretel remarked.

You are not my daughter anymore."

Gretel smiled at her father.

“Honestly, I’m happy to hear that. It means that I have one less asshole to deal with in order to be myself and live my best life.” 

The woodcutter’s daughter walked out of the room and locked the door behind her. She walked back upstairs, leaving her father alone to await his fate. Ivo thought how ironic it was that he, a victim of famine, was to be fattened in order to be killed and eaten by a wicked witch. He prayed that his demise would be painless. If not, he would rather cut his own throat than allow himself to be killed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Image source: [Gretel's Worst Nightmare](https://disney.fandom.com/wiki/Claude_Frollo/Gallery?file=Hunchback-of-the-notre-dame-disneyscreencaps.com-8531.jpg)


	16. Much Chubbier

_ "Get up, lazybones! Fetch water and cook something good for your brother. He is locked outside in the stall and is to be fattened up. When he is fat, I am going to eat him." _

* * *

The woodcutter looked down at his plump belly. Over the course of three weeks, he had rapidly gained weight from consuming the meals that his daughter served to him in the dungeon of the Blind Witch’s cottage. All of those pies, cupcakes, fried and broiled meats, and other meals had transformed his frail form into a muscular, chubby machine of a man. He wondered what his wife would think of his weight gain. But what if his wife wasn’t even alive? What if she had been killed and eaten by the witch? Ivo hoped that his spouse wasn’t made into a meal. He didn’t want her to share the same fate as her damned husband. 

“Guess what day it is?” Gretel said as she entered her father’s prison, carrying a tray of miniature pumpkin pies. 

“Sunday?” Ivo replied.

“Yes, Dad. It’s Sunday,” the woodcutter’s daughter said. “Sundays are feast days. Miss Braeburn is excited to make you her latest meal.” 

“But I don’t wish to be eaten,” Ivo protested.

“Too bad, so sad.”

“Can’t you get that horrid witch to change her mind?” Ivo pleaded.

“I’m sorry, but this is the way it should be. In this world, it’s eat or be eaten, kill or be killed."

"But why?" the woodcutter asked.

"Because sinners like you deserve to be on top of the food chain," Gretel replied. "Predators need their prey, after all. This is the natural order of society.” 

“What Satanic nonsense is this?” Ivo wondered.

“It’s not nonsense,” Gretel laughed. 

“Then what do you call your mad ramblings?”

“My words are neither nonsense nor madness. It’s the gospel truth.” 

“Whatever you say, Gretel,” Ivo sighed.

The woodcutter’s daughter sat down beside her father and handed one of the pumpkin pies to him. Ivo took a bite. The pie was still warm and flaky, its flavor seducing his taste buds. He hadn’t tasted anything pumpkin-themed since his childhood. 

“How’s the pie?” Gretel asked.

“It’s delicious,” Ivo replied.

“This meal will be your last. The oven has already been heated and the flames have been fed. It’s time for you to be roasted in the fires of Hell as payment for your crimes.” 

Swallowing his pride along with his pies, the woodcutter took his daughter’s hand and followed her upstairs, where the Blind Witch stood beside her human-sized oven. She licked her lips as Ivo approached her. Hansel sat in a corner of the room, eating peanut butter cookies and wearing a necklace of sausages made from the leftover entrails of last night’s dinner. The Blind Witch pinched her prisoner’s arm.

“Is he tender?” Gretel wondered.

“He’s perfect,” the Blind Witch said. 

“Perfect?” the woodcutter asked.

“Not too firm, but not too soft either. This man has plenty of meat on his bones.” 

“And plenty of bones to pick,” Hansel replied.

Before being roasted, the woodcutter was forced to strip down to his underwear, since the Blind Witch insisted to Gretel that her father wouldn’t taste as good if he was clothed. His clothes were collected in a basket. Hansel took out a knife from his pocket and handed it to the Blind Witch. Grabbing the woodcutter by his hair, the old baker pulled her prisoner’s head back and cut his throat open, licking the blood from the open wound. Since she decided that he wasn’t worthy of being roasted, the Blind Witch cast his body aside, telling her surrogate grandchildren that lunch was served. Hansel, with a newfound hunger for flesh and blood, grabbed hold of his father’s arm and tore it from its socket. He bit into one of the fingers, crunching and munching the flesh from the bones. Gretel disemboweled the woodcutter, pulling out his intestines and squeezing them. Both of the siblings enjoyed their lunch. To them, their father’s meat tasted like candied pork. He was the best thing since breadcrumbs and porridge combined. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Image source: [Remains of the Blind Witch's Previous Meals](https://onceuponatime.fandom.com/wiki/True_North/Gallery?file=109Bones.png)


	17. Hellfire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Since my AU goes into much darker places than Disney would ever venture, my portrayal of Gothel is mainly a means to vent my divine wrath at sexual abuse, parental neglect, rape, and the mistreatment of children. She is a rapist, an abusive parent, and a pedophile who fantasizes about Her Majesty's unborn daughter. Normally, these traits would be applied to older male villains, but the tables have now been turned for the worst. As someone who considers Rapunzel to be his precious baby girl and is protective of her, I will not be going into graphic detail about certain aspects of her abuse when I get around to her backstory, but I will make sure that she is given agency as well as a voice. The abused deserve the spotlight more than their abusers.**

_"Thou shalt have no other Gods before me."_

* * *

Gothel warmed her hands as she sat down in front of her fireplace. She reached between her legs and gently removed her panties, stroking her genitalia with her right hand. Dressed in a black-and-purple gown, she had taken on the form of a priestess in order to convince herself she truly was a holy woman, even though she was a demonic enchantress. Her eyes were mesmerized by the dancing flames that sometimes conjured visions in her mind or provided her with inspiration for her plans. Within the fire, she swore she saw the face of a deity who existed in her subconsciousness. She was an evil spirit with pale skin and purple hair. Her lavender eyes were enticing but their gaze was deadly. Her name was Zhan Tiri, the harbinger of chaos and suffering. Though she originated from the troubled mind of her mistress, stories of the deity were spread throughout the village by Gothel herself in an attempt to make the Puritans believe that she existed among them. Some said that she took on the form of a Gothic toddler. Others said she was a blizzard or a warlock. Gothel dismissed the folklore of her Puritan enemies as nonsense. After all, she knew the real Zhan Tiri. She created her to act as her voice of reason. Her conscience was her guide.

“Those pitiful fools,” Gothel said to herself. “Their so-called God is no match for the almighty Zhan Tiri. She is more powerful and cunning than He will ever be.” 

Unsurprisingly, the image of Her Majesty’s unborn child appeared in Gothel’s mind’s eye. Her beautiful innocence cast a spell over the witch, seducing her with thoughts of dirty deeds she would perform with the seven-month-old princess in her custody. She felt her. She saw her. The sunlight of her golden hair was enough to arouse her. The Puritans would have labeled her as a predator simply because of her attraction towards such a small human. She preferred to identify as an old soul with unconventional appetites and desires. In reality, she was a degenerate creature who deserved to be arrested and locked up, even though she had evaded the officers of the law many times throughout her unnatural life. 

“Such a beautiful baby. Beautiful, and fit for a witch like me. The child shall be mine, and mine alone. I will have her, even if I have to kill her father in order to obtain his offspring. Her succulent virginity shall not go unwasted. In order to feed my inner demon, I think it would be best to keep her as my little maid. Yes, a maid will do nicely. Zhan Tiri would love her."

Gothel’s repulsive fantasies were interrupted by Cassandra, who had walked in on her mother enjoying herself. 

“Mom? What are you doing?” Gothel’s daughter asked.

“Sweetie, what did Mommy tell you about barging into her room when she’s busy with herself?” 

“Sorry, but I was wondering if you could please make me some cookies and warm milk? I had a nightmare.”

Gothel hissed at her daughter. 

“Leave me alone,” the old witch said.

“But, Mommy…” 

“Get out, you idiot! Don’t bother me again.” 

Cassandra sniffled as she looked upon her annoyed mother. Seeing that she would not be getting any milk or cookies tonight, she scurried out of her mother’s bedroom. Gothel sighed as she regained her attention toward the fireplace. Her daughter truly was a lousy little pest. Sometimes, when her little girl was bored after finishing her chores, the old witch would wind up one of her music boxes and play a lullaby to keep her out of her hair. She was more concerned about providing for her coven than caring for her own flesh and blood. In her world, her sisters were her main priority. Her daughter was nothing more than an afterthought. Luckily, Cassandra knew how to take care of herself when her mother wasn’t home, so she didn’t have to worry about starving to death. 

“Zhan Tiri, do you think of me as a worthy mother to Her Majesty’s child?” Gothel asked. 

The deity awakened inside the mind of her mistress and answered her question. 

_“The Princess of Pampers will be the perfect slave for her mother, but she will also be your downfall.”_

“My downfall?” Gothel replied.

_“It’s best to keep her in line so she doesn’t rebel against you,”_ Zhan Tiri foretold. 

“What must I do?” Gothel wondered.

_“Keep the little princess sheltered and pampered. Whatever you do, don’t let her see you for what you truly are, or she will bring you down. She is small, but mighty.”_

“How can a baby girl be small and mighty?” Gothel laughed. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

_“Just wait, Belladonna. Wait for nine years until the child is born. After she is brought into this world, you will claim her as your own and raise her as your slave. She will be your secret sin. However, she must be potty-trained, or else she’ll develop a fetish for her comfort zone.”_

“What are you implying?” Gothel demanded.

_“There’s a reason she’ll be known as the Princess of Pampers,”_ Zhan Tiri replied.

Gothel was horrified at the realization behind the deity’s prophetic innuendo. There was no way in Hell that she would allow any daughter or slave of hers to develop a diaper fetish. Such an obsession was sinful in her eyes. If she was to potty-train the future child, then so be it. She would raise the Princess of Pampers to be a princess of proper finery and etiquette, even if it meant spanking some sense into her.

“Princess of Pampers? Over my dead body.”

_"I wouldn't go that far."_

"But I would," Gothel snarled. 

To Gothel’s displeasure, Cassandra had walked into her room again. She turned around and smiled at her daughter.

“Yes, Cassandra?” Gothel asked.

“Who are you talking to?” Cassandra wondered.

“Just me, myself, and Zhan Tiri.”

“Who’s Zhan Tiri?” 

“That’s none of your concern.”

“What’s not any of my concern?”

The Mistress of the Western Woods was beginning to grow infuriated by her mother’s granddaughter’s obnoxious questions. 

“Cassandra, please go to your room.”

Gothel’s daughter was confused at this command.

“Why, Mommy?” 

The witch turned around. She flashed a creepy yet convincingly sweet smile at her daughter. 

“Because Mommy said so. Now shut your mouth, turn around, and do as I say. If you refuse to comply, then Mommy will lose her patience and spank your ass until you cry for mercy. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mommy.” 

From inside Gothel's head, Zhan Tiri laughed wickedly as her mistress smiled.

_"Cassandra's such a good girl, isn't she?"_

"Yes, she is. She's the perfect maidservant that a witch could ask for."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Image source: [Zhan Tiri](https://disney.fandom.com/wiki/Zhan_Tiri?file=RapunzelsTangledAdventure3x12ZhanTiri.jpg)


	18. Sweet Revenge

_ "Hansel, we are saved. The old witch is dead." _

* * *

“You remind me of when I was young,” the Blind Witch told Gretel, sipping coffee from her mug. 

“How? We’re nothing alike,” Gretel replied.

Chuckling darkly, the Blind Witch set her mug down on the left side of the table and smiled at her surrogate granddaughter. 

“That is not entirely true. Just like you, I was once a premature witch. I mastered the art of pyrokinetic magic.” 

“Who taught you?” Gretel asked.

“My tutor was the Dark One,” the Blind Witch revealed.

“Rumplestiltskin?” Gretel asked.

“The one and only. Anyway, I used my powers to take down my enemies in order to save those who were being oppressed by the government of Corona. You have potential to become a great witch, my dear Gretel.” 

“What if I don’t want to be a witch? What if I want to be a sorceress or an enchantress?” Gretel argued.

“A sorceress sounds splendid,” the Blind Witch remarked.

“Could you please teach me how to control and manipulate fire?” Gretel begged.

“I would gladly teach you tomorrow, but I need to warn you first.”

“Warn me?” Gretel gasped.

“Fire can be your friend, but it has no sense of humor. Be careful with how you play with the flames.”

“I shall,” Gretel promised. 

“I just want you to be careful with these things. Witchcraft isn’t a toy. It’s a tool of justice and revenge. Use it wisely.” 

“Don’t worry, I will,” Gretel replied. “By the way, did you know that my brother and I have a sweet tooth? Our parents never allowed us to eat candy or gingerbread. They thought that the consumption of sweet treats was linked to gluttony. They were sticklers for following God’s laws.” 

“There is no God in this household. Only me.”

“How can you say something so dramatic yet so bold?” Gretel wondered.

“I’m a witch. It’s my job to be dramatic.”

“That makes sense,” Hansel’s sister replied.

Gretel nearly jumped out of her chair as lightning flashed outside the window of the kitchen. The storm that Gothel created from her cauldron was continuing to rage outside, resulting in the kingdom being consumed by an endless darkness that snuffed out all of the electric lights in the kingdom, resulting in the villagers having to light candles in order to clearly see their surroundings. 

“What’s the matter, dearie?” the Blind Witch asked.

“There’s a storm outside,” Gretel replied.

“Don’t worry, my sweet child. I’ll fix that!”

The Blind Witch clapped her hands three times in a row. Instantly, the storm subsided, and the moonlight broke through the clouds to shine on the kingdom once more.

“That’s better,” Gretel said. 

“Where’s your brother?” the Blind Witch asked.

“He’s probably in the basement.” 

“What’s he doing down there? Nobody’s allowed in my dungeon except you or me.” 

“Why don’t you go check on him?” Gretel suggested.

“I’d rather have you go down there,” the Blind Witch said. 

“Alright, I will.” 

As Gretel went down to the basement, the Blind Witch drank the rest of her coffee in silence.

“Such a sweet child,” the old woman chuckled to herself.

Before the Blind Witch could get up from the table to wash her mug, the door opened. The Western Witch stood in the doorway.

"Hello, Miss Braeburn," Zelena said.

The woodcutter's wife walked into the kitchen. She removed her hat and placed it on the table, sticking her tongue out at her nemesis while giving her the middle finger. The Blind Witch hissed at her uninvited guest. 

“I thought I told you not to come back?”

“Did you honestly think I would actually listen to you?” Zelena laughed. 

“Not really,” the Blind Witch replied. 

"I came here to fetch my stepchildren. They've abandoned me."

"Actually, it looks like they've abandoned you," the Blind Witch said.

"Sorry, but I don't remember asking for your opinion," the stepmother replied.

"That's a pity," the baker said.

“By the way, why in God's name did you choose to build the exterior of your cottage out of gingerbread and sweets? Wouldn’t it rot?”

“Not if it’s enchanted.”

“Also, what’s the secret ingredient in your meat pies?” 

“I’m not telling you.” 

“Why not? Because you have to kill me?” Zelena laughed.

The Blind Witch smiled, withdrawing a carving knife from the pocket of her apron. She pointed her knife at her enemy.

“Yes, dearie. That’s exactly why.” 

Zelena’s eyeballs nearly popped out of their sockets as the knife wormed its way into her abdomen three times in a row before being kicked in the crotch and pushed to the ground. Gretel, who had returned from the basement with her brother, noticed her stepmother. She walked over to the wicked woman, pulled the knife out of the wound, and swiftly slashed her throat open with a smile of vengeful glee on her face. After checking to make sure she was sincerely dead, the woodcutter’s daughter picked up her stepmother and tossed her into the flames of the oven. She closed and locked the iron doors, covering her ears. The Western Witch screamed while being roasted as punishment for her abandonment of her hungry stepchildren. Gretel held Hansel’s hand as they stood in front of the oven.

"It's okay, little brother," Hansel's sister said. "The wicked witch is dead. She won't be hurting us anymore." 

Outside of the gingerbread house, the ears and noses of the woodland animals were assaulted by wicked stepmother’s screams and the aroma of her burning flesh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Image source: [Stepmother vs. Baker](https://onceuponatime.fandom.com/wiki/Blind_Witch_\(The_Eighth_Witch\)/Gallery?file=717WhosePowers.png)


	19. God Save The Queen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **The illustrations (screenshots) featured in my stories are responsibly sourced from the[Once Upon A Time Wiki](https://onceuponatime.fandom.com/wiki/Once_Upon_a_Time_Wiki) and the [Disney Wiki](https://disney.fandom.com/wiki/The_Disney_Wiki). I try to find good images that match my vision of the AU I've created**.

_“Authority should derive from the consent of the governed, not from the threat of force.”_

* * *

Queen Arianna sat on her throne, drinking iced tea from her chalice. She watched as a party of farmers, bakers, millers, and butchers danced around an indoor bonfire in the center of the throne room. The villagers were celebrating the anniversary of the birth of their kingdom. The Queen’s husband sat beside her. His feet were being given a pedicure courtesy of the Captain of the Guard, who was a beautician as well as an enforcer of His Majesty’s sacred laws.

“Fred?” the King’s wife asked.

“Yes, my dear wife?” King Frederic replied.

“Do you want to know what I’ve been thinking since yesterday?”

“What?”

The Queen turned around and smiled at her husband.

“How do you feel about taking a temporary break from ruling over the kingdom?” 

“What are you talking about?” His Majesty chuckled. 

“I wish for you to step down from the throne for at least six years so that I may rule instead of you,” Queen Arianna requested. 

“You want me to step down? Are you outside of your mind?” the King gasped.

"Would you rather be impeached instead?"

"No, my dear wife," King Frederic sighed. 

“Relax, Fred! It’s not like I'm planning for your resignation to be a permanent form of absence. I just think that it’s time for this kingdom to be ruled by a woman with grace, strength, and wisdom. I’m sorry, my darling husband, but the consequences of patriarchal monarchy have been too much for your dear wife to handle. Many innocent witches have been arrested and sentenced to death due to your role as the supreme leader of the Church of Corona. Somebody needs to right the wrongs that you’ve implemented into Puritanical society.”

“But this kingdom’s never had a female monarch, let alone an independent one,” King Frederic replied.

“That’s why I’ll be the first. I will be known as Arianna the Wise.”

“And what exactly will you be doing? Hosting cute little tea parties with thugs and ruffians?” the Queen’s husband retorted. 

“Actually, that sounds like a wonderful idea.”

“Surely you can’t be serious?” the King asked.

“She is serious,” the Captain of the Guard replied. 

“Do not question my authority,” the Queen warned her husband.

“Or what?” King Frederic replied. 

Queen Arianna smiled at the Captain of the Guard. Without hesitation, she blew on a silver whistle that hung around her neck and clapped her hands. The royal guards entered the throne room. 

“Yes, Your Majesty?” the Captain of the Guard asked.

The King’s wife pointed to her tyrannical husband. 

“Guards, have you ever wondered how His Majesty would survive in captivity?” 

“No, Your Majesty,” the Captain of the Guard.

“What’s captivity?” the King asked.

“Prison,” the Queen whispered to her spouse. 

“The dungeon,” the Captain of the Guard replied. 

“Dungeon? Why am I being sent to the dungeon?” the Queen’s husband asked. 

"Because of your crimes against humanity." 

"Crimes? What crimes?" King Frederic demanded. 

“Are you aware of how many witches, wizards, and so-called Satanic forces you’ve condemned to death?” the King's wife whispered to her husband.

“Thirteen-hundred?” the King guessed.

“Actually, the exact number is thirteen-thousand-and-seven,” the Captain of the Guard corrected His Majesty. "Do you know what that means? It means that your men are responsible for taking countless lives out of fear and disrespect simply because they refuse to understand what threatens them."

"Monsters come in many forms," the King's wife remarked.

“I was simply trying to protect my subjects from the forces of evil,” the Queen’s husband claimed. 

"The forces of evil were your subjects. Tell me, my dear husband, are you really one of God's men or are you simply a tyrant who's created a false enemy in order to make yourself look like a God among men?”

The Queen’s response made King Frederic royally dumbstruck. He gasped for words as the Captain of the Guard handcuffed him from behind his back and walked away from the throne with him toward a doorway on the left side of the room. The King looked back at his wife. She was tranquilly furious but slightly regretful for not saving enough lives from being destroyed by the social disease that infected her subjects. A disease known as bigotry. 

“Alright, men! Take him away.”

King Frederic cried out his wife’s name as he was seized by the Captain of the Guard. His screams were ignored by the woman whom he had loved and argued with for seven years. The last sight the King witnessed before being led to the dungeon was his wife as she sat on her husband’s throne. Queen Arianna wept silently. Her tears weren’t shed for her spouse, but rather for the living Hell that her kingdom had transformed into. She stood up from her throne and gazed upon the partying peasants. They heard everything that Her Majesty had said. They chose to remain oblivious to the fact that their King’s reign had temporarily ended. Most of the commoners in the kingdom would rather pretend that life was a fairy tale than face the reality of their misbehavior. As for the King’s wife, she hoped that she would have the power to transform sinners into saints and demons into angels. She wasn’t just her husband’s partner. She was a godly woman, and in time, a divine mother who would be adored by her people for the contributions she made to society in the name of goodness. 

“Did I do the right thing?” the King’s wife asked the Captain of the Guard. 

The Captain was told that there was no need for him to answer, since Her Majesty’s question was merely rhetorical. He knelt down and kissed his monarch’s hand. The Queen smiled at him, kissing his hand in return. 

Long live Queen Arianna. Long live Corona.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Image source: [The Divine Monarchy of Corona](https://disney.fandom.com/wiki/Queen_Arianna/Gallery?file=One_Angry_Princess_31.png)


End file.
